Apocalypse
by Gabe Redel
In a small tomb
dug underground
a trapped man sits.
With his arms outspread,
stretching from wall to wall,
and his neck bent
under the ceiling
he fights
to keep the walls from caving in.
What once was alive in him
has become his surroundings.
His arms and shoulders throb
from the weight of the underground.
Above his head
on the crust of the living
the bodies of the nations
burn to the ground.
Their own fires.
Barren land,
night and darkness,
searchlights of the survivors
circle the desolation
with shovels in hand.
The work left behind
from those who squandered life to the fire
is bountiful.