Mark Andrew Holmes

The color of destruction is not black;

It's gray.

Black is what was never there

The damned have black expanses

In lieu of faces.

They originate nothing;

They can't originate anything.

They lead nobody, except one another,

Like the blind, like lemmings;

Individually and collectively, they're nugatory,

Going through the motions,

Resignedly welcoming the creeping amniotic fog;

No love, less life;

No values, always compromise;

Giving more and more, till they've whittled themselves away to revenants,

Moronic, robotic, zombielike; they

Shuffle somnambulistically, aimlessly through a dead gray city of trash,

An astoundingly vast gray decrepit forest of concrete buildings

Beneath a sheltering smoky pewter sky

Where a tepid and rancid wind ebbs and flows, but never stops blowing

On a long inexorable highway to nowhere

Harsh and abrasive undefoot

Without sudden turnings,

Without mileposts,

Without signs.

© 2008 by Mark Andrew Holmes.

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