Jay A. Young

I Woke To Falling Curtains

I woke to falling curtains
an omnipotent red, waving
autumn hands on the edge
of time.
And of time -
there was none:

I heard an iron curtain
close gently over the sky,
whispering as it touched
the dust.
And of dust -
there was plenty:
too much to bare with arms.

Where do the atheists go?
Because I wake to the end
of the world. The closure of
a city, the burning of Paris.
The shadow of Aeneas
as his sail forgets Carthage.

We who can't believe,
don't believe.
Until the end.

Poem Submitted: Saturday, April 28, 2012

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