Andrew David Dalby
Dark light: you crack open like a black flower, to unfurl a burnt smile;
That, in turn, gives an open honest witness to death’s pure perfection.
It is here within this soft entrance, that you are now slowly squeezed:
And together with white penetrating fingers, that have heated blisters,
You violently turn in upon yourself; and with the action of an implosion,
You thrust yourself out into our world. For now you are ready to be born.
It is here, upon this dry desert, I witness your huge hideous fleshless skull
That is violently thrust forward; and in agony, flushed out on our dim world.
And you arrive with such brutal force; such terrible malicious magnificence:
Yet you are an embryo, being brought to life by the actions of mere mortals,
Who had no real knowledge of what it really was, that they had unleashed;
Or what would be the consequences that their new knowledge would reap.
And in these small seeds that bloom on every shore, your power slowly grows:
For many crave your uncurling flower: and the skull that is your terrible power,
They fight, and they bicker, and they push, and they pull, to gain a positional place.
To simply be another lunatic voice: and a part of this utterly insane nuclear race.
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