The Bomb as the Brake of Karma...

I was young when the world ended. My family was a blood red rose thirsting for life in the broken concrete jungle of an urban warzone, tangled up in a mass of seething vines and brambles in a dark corner of a broken city that time had long forgotten. An untouchable corner of the city, unvisited, and we were never seen by the beautiful eyes of those glimmering diamonds who knew everything of our plight but nothing of our lives. Those beautiful glittering diamonds dancing their way to heaven with numbers on their backs, every move subject to the watchful gaze of a pantheon of judges, every step well placed onto the heart of another while the applause deafened them all and made them dizzy and drunk so that they thought of nothing but the music and the moves that they had learned from watching each other.

And when the dancing got so furious that bombs began to fall, the petals of my family burned to nothing, and the winds that came blew our ashes this way and that, along with the vines and the brambles and the concrete and the diamonds whose long evolution had been undone in a flash and who were now nothing but simple carbon once again. And we all looked the same. And nothing moved.

So where does my soul go to now? Our perennial seed remains but there is no earth in which to take root. We used to come back. We used to come back to the promise of growth and of dreams. We used to go back. But now there is nowhere to go.