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Saturday, February 14, 2015

More Anomalies A - Z: Night

The final sunlit hours were fading
as we made one final dash
from the farm house
under a fusillade of poisoned rays,
the lively light of our bright star
dying from view.

Darkness rose up from the soil, and our souls
like a theological anomaly, a satanic infection,
a pustulant pestilence from beyond the Earth.

The Vicar was dead; they were all dead,
millions and millions in the night.
A silver disk held aloft in the sky
by means of a magnetic flux
like invisible legs, the moon
rose over the low and tired horizon.

We gathered in our toppled churches,
under shattering stained-glass windows
while a Roman solder tossed dice on the stairs.
Outside, night had come; midnight
tumbled the stones and bricks
of our miserable defenses.

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Jeff Carter's books on Goodreads
Muted Hosannas Muted Hosannas
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