Delivery run,
on the last day of the end of the world.
From fields of flowers,
to roads of automation.
They told us it would happen,
history prophesied,
from monkey bars, we spied them coming.
Their murmur-drumming and buzzing in the clouds drawing closer and closer.
Just let me run these flowers down the road to my mum who Iβll never see after today.
Just give me this one more day to say I love her.
I know all is ending soon,
so I croon my farewell to all Iβve ever known.
I promise to be a good slave on the planet far away.
Soon, my anchor, Iβll carry,
and I shall not tarry long now.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
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1977
1977 - I remember the year like it was today. Newly nineteen and newlyweds. Your hair was like goldenrod. Your dress framed your body perfectly. Your lips sang to me all the way down the aisle. We were young and smart, not dumb, I think. You are still my sweet everything after all these years. It brings tears to my eyes when I think about how well we still suit each other. You make familiar look gorgeous! Thank you for trusting me and caring for me the way you always do. I sometimes get lost with dreams but you always do the best to make those dreams reality.
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Poets
Comments (1)
ββBut of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, but My Father only. But as the days of Noah were, so also will the coming of the Son of Man be.β ββMatthewβ¬ β24β¬:β36β¬-37 The bots donβt stand a chance.