To the Teddy Bear Witnessing the Apocalypse

Cogs and wheels fill with eroded sanctity,
surrounded by songs for her, for the world,
sometimes for
the earth trampled beneath. Brimstone and
silk upon a sea of words, all of whom gave
Sagan his sonnets, Shakespeare his lab
beakers, the Lady Elizabeth a library of
ancient philosophers upon a throne of
poverty.

Broken clocks against an everlasting
pendulum, the toxic sun falling to its quiet
melancholy, I look at creation in front of
me. Smoke fills my senses, the familiar taste
of ash upon the tip of my lips. I reach out
to caress acidic oceans, a mixture of sulfur
and lithium staining my mind. Wires choke
me, shards of glass that go nowhere most
of the time.

But I still see you.

I see you racing around, your fragile hands
against your unwavering heart. I see your
beautiful sins and ugly will crying out for
friends and family, keep them safe, keep them
warm, smiling and laughing as you once were
before. I see your unspoken prayers, uttering
softly against your lips as you try to see another
day, to seek out another life in a faraway
dream.

To give you that undying lullaby,
filled with silent ambience, cries
outweighing the many and the few,
the assumption that no one still knew.

But I can’t help but love you.

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