Photo by Zanyar Ibrahim on Unsplash
Empty hands are cold,
the bystanders ignore warmth,
and the light dies slow.
About the Creator
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More stories from Luna Jordan and writers in Poets and other communities.
Bomb Scare
It was 2027, and the world never thought it would happen. A missle hit the United States, but it wasn't where they had anticipated. A little town in the northeast was hit by a missile strike, they didn't know why, and they didn't know exactly where it hit, but they did know it was a coastal community, somewhere between Maine and Delaware.
By Gregory Payton8 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
Oh well, it is what it is. Loved your poem!
What a lonesome poem you have written here. Good job on the emotion of the work.