Poem-A-Day: Day 260

Slow Breeze Blows

I saw happiness
fluttering away like a wounded butterfly
piloted against its will.
It was being flown to a boiler,
presumably to be incinerated
deep within the sweaty hells inside,
possibly to emerge from the fires,
burning in agony,
dead and soulless.

I saw happiness
and we locked gazes in passing.
It appeared to be completely genuine
aside from the look of dread,
the knowing certainty that death was there
driving the fate into the metallic clutches
of the biggest shit storm man has ever witnessed.
There would be a mess,
but still nothing to clean.

And as I saw happiness,
I smiled and turned away
knowing that the dead and the soulless
have nothing to prove,
and the metallic structure
that has erected monuments at my feet
is nothing more than the next wave of nothing
that I will knock down
with my passing breeze.