Watching the Vagabond Sky
In a corner of the world, waiting
And then the message arrives Bomb shelters are advised They're flying in from the skies The missiles Surreal does not even take you half way there Science Fiction? Could be, the kind that singes hair So dressed like stars they fall Candles in the night The rockets come To lavafy reality But I'll tell you a little secret I never told anyone It is those moments before the first explosion That your imagination can really run wild Of martians saving all X-ray vision burning engines Another dimension... Ha! To no avail, no rhyme or reason prevails For buildings shake with convulsions And I, berefit of any creativity Only want to stay alive Till the end of the bomb raid
Scribed, rather urgently, in those few precious moments before the first bomb arrives, as my version of Science Fiction in poetry, all-too real, for dversepoets.com
The real horror of war is something that makes the imagined star wars seem lame... the current war(s) is like a combination of Flander's fields and some weird science fiction with drones and missiles (it is easy to imagine starships too). Just checked my old prompt and realized that someone called Pirate linking up, the link to the poem is lost but I think it was the name you posted under then.
A very real horrifying and gripping story, which are even happening now. I wish some Martians can save us all. But the reality of survival hits very hard. Thanks for your personal share Ain. Keep safe. Grace