At the stroke of midnight
One day slips beneath the next;
Clock sounds rumble from a
Subduction zone where the crust of time
Descends into a molten past;
Percussion waves reverberate in the dark,
Move across folded minds,
Shake out the sun-built edifices, and
Crumble their brick and mortar walls.
When all are flat and dark,
When all are scrambled,
When all are broken,
Survivors crawl out of the rubble,
Heave up to the surface in desperate bursts,
Like deep sea divers who rise and float
Briefly among the debris,
Before they hobble across the land,
Turn back to see the extinguished,
Plod through the uproar and gather round
For the break of day.
© cmheuer, 2014
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