What is there to write when the walls have collapsed, strong pillars falling?
What words to make and measure, when structures are holed and solid foundations sudden sand?
I may be dead in the rubble, I was never told the clues to look out for –
‘When dead, proceed towards the light. If there’s no light – await instructions.’
Or I may be alive, but not as I know it, it’s not what it was, that’s for sure
I’m probably numb, I’ve heard people are, but how would I know?
Numb is when you can’t feel, or don’t know what to feel, I’m definitely numb
Though I feel through the dust, my fingers still searching, sharp edges of smashed brick, the ripped plaster, the strange shapes of fixtures and fittings that no longer fit
And are no longer fixtures, buckled and bent, not what they were; this is no bright-lit showroom, no ideal home.
Nothing now works; not here.
A new world, you say, but those words aren’t right, because it’s not like anything is starting
Or ending – that happened years ago, but collapse takes its time, the break-down cautious in declaring itself
Though when it does, you know; the rubble being the clue, the choking dust
And the end of what was, the end of everything, which may be good, this does cross your mind.
