Perpetual War
by Odin Roark

What is this silence of eruption?
This stifled resonance of tremors below?
Why are the glistening ducts emitting but mutant cries down the face of truth?
When will the quiet pain find the freedom to just be that which it longs to be—peace?

Last night

Many wished tomorrow morning would vanish,
As once there were sunrises waiting to be seen.
Even as clouds seemed heavy,
Hope was there.

But now…

Somewhere in all the last nights,
And the time in between,
Emptiness fills the moonlit sky where once bright reminders
Pointed to memories yet to come,
Road signs not yet discovered.

As given,

Every morning explodes again,
And last night becomes today,
Making all that seemed possible
Evaporate with the mist of drifting fog.

Saturated with bodily smoke,
The shorelines of lost souls continue to decay,
Making friendly trade winds steer afar,
Where once their warmth cradled innocent solitude.

Hopefully the tonights of future tomorrows will bring new beginnings,
For time cannot repeat itself.
It can only continue forward as the next interval,
Leaving in its path the residue once thought…
Once even called…
What was it called back then,
When there was never a possible “last” night?

Love?