Age
Old
People made of sand now lost in the sand, blowing in the breeze. Dusty
grains kicked up by the whirling dank air. A dervish in a swirl. Unrestricted
ruins now visible, all that remains of the old city.
Ruins are bones, bones are ruins. Everything beneath, bleach white bones
under equally white moon.
Luminous.
Square stone blocks no longer upright. Earthquake tumble. Fragmented
roof tiles, fractured mosaics, dried up river. All eaten by sand, an
unrelenting advance.
Dust bowl heaven for small scurrying creatures, hiding from the
sidewinder snake. Now the only life here.
People are skeletons in the sand. Culture extinct, a memory amongst
ghosts. Over now.
Italia
Dream of a nation, they built a big airship for Arctic exploration.
Things went so well, taking a plethora of readings and photographs till a head
wind sprung up. They used most of the fuel battling the wind. Serious technical
trouble followed. This would go downhill, fast.
A crash!
Ripping fabric, torn envelope. Smashed control cabin forlorn on the ice.
Many dead and injured. Stuck on the ice sheet, forsaken? Airship drifts off to
oblivion and death. Lost to this day, many decades later. What were their last
moments like? A mystery.
Poor stricken men from the control cabin were rescued after time in an
icy Hell. They risked their lives for Italy and exploration. Were the risks
worth it? Italia was lost...
Dench
I know it's wrong in seeing beauty in dark things. How serenely stunning
the mighty Gustloff looks on her side, sinking. Black Baltic night.
How prettily disfigured is a soldier's face after an illegal explosive
bullet connects. One eye function.
See the biker wrapped round the left rear tractor wheel, under the
mudguard. Nice fit. What the hell?
Hell on earth. Oxygen and a spark in a space capsule, French fry time.
Give them a nitrogen air mix to breathe. Space cadet dead time.
You wanna die? I know a good spot by Uppermill railway tracks. Hide in
the bushes and jump on the rails when a train comes. Maybe you're the train
driver's third suicide. Can't stop the train or a rear end smash. Next train is
five minutes behind. Warm brother style, close.
Nice day sailing. You're rich and an April boy. More cash then sense.
When your mast snaps and you're stranded at sea, just think: where's you're
radio? Ashore with your bloody brain! You starve to death, seagull food.
So much fun, moving vehicles and darkness.
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