I

A few breaths past forever's night
with Dawn a strangled mem'ry,
I choke upon the afterlife
of xenophobic fury.

The dust cakes lungs and soils my air
with evil's dark excreta,
my life become thick boles of dung
Hate riddled with his cancer.

I look across an Earth bleached grey
by atoms' tortured pleas;
a paranoid metropolis,
an empty legacy.

With horror's black yet verdant hope
I quest 'cross landscapes raped.
A tiny ant with solace dreams -
from this world to escape.


II

A hundred years or so ago,
the blight had struck this land
with fetid breath and acid bile
and dealings underhand.

No dog of war was our demise,
nor politics our loss.
It was the deals, grotesque and grim,
the winning against cost.

As lust became our currency
and testing was a virtue,
poor Mother Nature bled upon
altars of profit's nurture.

Eventually the land was dry,
no creature found a mate.
The world, in all its innocence,
fell victim to our hate.


III

Now radiation suckles me
upon a nuclear teat,
the fallout fuels my apathy
and no day is discreet.

Although I breathe, I live in death,
a zombie all alone,
as though the devil drinks my breath
and soaks my very bones.

What animal have I become,
existing just to stroll,
inhabiting this purgat'ry
with no hope of parole?

I only know that I must seek
a purpose where I can.
Through desolation's aftermath,
I am the Wand'ring Man.