So, after the screams and cries died down,
All that was left were the incandescent angels.
Some were lined up in rows, by the roads.
Others were merely under a lampshade.
But that’d become our only source of light.
They became so sacred and holy - that we began to worship them.
As if they were gods of some kind. People would drop to their knees,
Look up to the dimness of these bulbous cherubs and wail.
The sky had disappeared. Pure blackness had cradled the clouds.
It was full-blown mayhem on the streets.
But I was in my cave.
The stalactites dripped like raindrops, and the candlelight
Had become my eyes.
Our only question had been, “was the moon still intact?”
Nonetheless, I watched the world from afar, in a cauldron
Of the Earth, and the only thing I could think was:
All of the things mankind has been searching for,
Isn’t in this world.