After The War Poem by Stevie Smith

There was nothing remotely familiar,
I could see no one and every one all at once.
These people were lost, they were all dead.
Salem grew dark-blushing from a freshly spent temptation.
A seduction created from the ideas of rash men,
that was then danced into destiny's details by the devil.
It continued breeding shadow as every flame,
owned by the light was savagely snuffed-out.
Murder was now on a most elegant hunt.
Each diminishing spark documented each kill,
becoming a growing list of victims.
Meanwhile the thick lingering Blackness
kept a informal score as the shadow grew in strength.
Secretly, far off in the distance, a melody of sweetly soft smothered shrieks
signaled and started a symphony of serenely sobering sobs.
Sobs that began shaping and shifting into
unarticulated sighs and cries that never faltered.
But still, it was met with one lone menacing Nightmare.
A over stayed it's welcome Terror.
It circled any remaining flame of light like a bottom feeding vulture.
Pushing it's poor neglected lies unto any and all close by ears.
It could be heard loudly whispering to your hopes and dreams:
'Fret not' it almost always began,
'For though you have truly lost it all-your lives included-
there is a promise to clothe you.'
There was no hiding the disdain from it's voice or face at the last two words.
But as quickly as the emotion appeared, it was replaced
with a plastic sneer as it finished with,
'All things look good, even better, dressed in our monograms.'
I found it's night terror or tall tale amusing,
meeting this Nightmare face to face
as my insistent smirk escaped my control,
unnoticed by all including me.