Any fleeting semblance of reason was lost

when the humans hid in isolation beneath the earth.

A global putrefaction followed by lawless flames,

the few who lived are those that ran,

forgetful of their past lives.

 

A son born in the depths, raised by his mother

on memories of a former population

and stories of a great world lost to hate,

taught that only a youthful soul such as he

could spread love once more.

 

Named for the wonder that lived beyond,

the young boy surfaced on a dead planet,

Sky, with eyes so black as the rolling soot above,

and whose pale skin shone a faint glow

over the ash and ice underfoot.

 

In a haze he ventured the exterior, stumbling

disoriented and weak, in his late mother's coat,

armed with merely pockets of tools and rations,

limping across the forsaken land, he searched

for another glimpse of life amid the hellish snowscape.

 

Creeping winds brought biting chills from the horizon,

like a thousand desperate spirits begging for absolution,

grasping for any chance at understanding their mistakes.

Tall stones formed broken hollow chambers in rows,

shadows of those perished scorched along their heights.

 

Slowly, the pulsing gray above marked two weeks past,

landmarks slipped into the fog, dissolving into ash.

The claws of the cold dulled and the stark white faded.

With no effort could Sky silence the quakes in his stomach,

though over them he heard a distant call.

 

A mother and daughter approached, distraught,

unknowing Sky to be victim of a corrupted hunger,

as devoid of feeling as the gods that abandoned humanity.

From a pocket of his coat he drew a knife, and swiped,

painting red the ice beneath with the mother's gore.

 

Named for the planet lost to conflagration,

the young girl cries over her mother's slaughter,

Earth, with hair so black as the shadows burned into stone,

and whose gentle grip took the knife

and further tore into the corpse below.

 

With a savage craving, she joined in the benefits

that Sky had created from gruesome necessity.

With bloodshed came a bright red, joyous and inspiring,

to contrast the gray scenery, as well as a human warmth

to counter the scrapes of the whistling winds.

 

Sky and Earth sat, drenched in the fruit of death,

exchanging through morsels of similar language

the stories that outlived their mothers.

In the wake of a global catastrophe fueled by hatred,

only the new, untainted youth would create love.

 

Through many years, the aging duo roamed the snow,

sustained by the unwilling generosity of those sacrificed,

the brave and curious surfacing from inside their bunkers,

only amounting to fountains of blood and fresh meat on bone,

forgotten in worlds both old and new.