Serious Cloud Formations
Poem by Maynard Hartman
Sitting quietly on top of some Timothy hay,
beneath a beautiful hue…an azure blue sky day.
No more…nothing…left for me to say.
I watched as the thick column of smoke rose above,
don’t know why the symbol of love…is a dove.
I shuddered, then railed against
the approaching sonic boom, then fell to my knees
as that column of smoke formed a giant mushroom.
Staggering waves of unnatural heat,
what a brutal relief— they spared me the grief
of watching the downfall of my fellow man.
My bones flew apart from my still beating heart,
and questioned…now moot; did I really do all that I can.
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