The Last Day

I have often thought
On silver-mist hazed days,
Punctuated by the soft beat of the rain on the glass:
What would I whisper to you
Huddled close under a collapsed wall, and
Clutching you tight,
Wiping the blood from your forehead, if
Today was our last day?
If the world had ended,
And the earth had cracked,
And our last, fleeting moments
Brushed past, like the wing of a white bird,

I never had an answer:
I could never find words.

And now, here I lay
Weak as mortal child,
Vague fingers reaching out,
Pushing against soft flesh,
Feeling for you,
Crying with joy when I see your face
I sob like the day I was born.
Although the desolate landscape around us
Of crumbled homes, burning, dying
Means that no one will ever live again,
Something somewhere made sure
You found me here
Lying under the gnarled remains of a car
Pulled close, on the hard rubble and
Cradled in the soft bend of your arm.
I cannot see
As the ash drifts softly down, snow-like and peaceful
And settles in drifts atop the burning remains
Of millions of lives lost
And hope destroyed.

I turn to you, and stare deep into your grey eyes,
And brush the ash from your cheek.
What is it I say?
What words do I breathe, held close,
Senseless and shaking?
Despite this misery,
The bleakness of our last day
The life bleeding fast out of the both of us
Like ink in water,
You kiss my fingertips, one by one,
And hold me close to your heart.

What is it I say?

I say nothing.
I could not find the words.
But you know, as the breath slips away
From both of our lips
That life was good, wasn't it?
Because here we are,
In a world, caught in a fire
Burning, crumbling, dying...
Hell on earth

Here we are
Together