An Error?

In a picture perfect world,
a sapphire sparkled stream
slips through grassy pastures
and quenches thirst it seems.
The very greenest meadows
snuggle at mountains feet,
They touch with vegetation
and tallest pines that meet
the bluest sky of summer
while reaching toward the sun,
and blazing golden sunsets
show an evening just begun.
Sky scrapers in the distance
tall shadows waiting there,
that give a false illusion
of peace that’s ours to share.
The fools that had the power
decided to call the hand,
pretending to be Jesus,
they felt like mighty men.
A bluff,,, explodes in "error?"
An instant flash of pain.
The picture perfect world
would never be again.
Destroyed with nuclear sadness
and seared in white hot flame,
Paint peeled from the picture
and curled up the frame.
Sky scrapers in the distance
blackened by the heat
stand, but now in mourning,
charred flesh lay at their feet.

Mountains singed to baldness
rivers parched and dry,
A meadow stripped of grasses
a glazing orange sky.
A white hot bunch of nothing,
Gone,.... as never been,
An immense and ranking graveyard
An "error" of the men.

©vrd3/2/98

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