Thursday, February 4, 2010

The Fallout Shelter

A little boy finds the long forgotten portal.
I follow, intrigued.


A stairway and another, the words printed calmly,
Greeting hypothetical pilgrims.

This cold monument to a lost age of paranoia,
echoes the tentative footfalls of my childlike companion.

Slowly we progress, like a tourist
lost in a foreign church. Down and down.

Its a historical film, played out before the torch,
a grim vision of past and future.


Doors, dark doors, in every direction,
a sea of thick black wonder lurks behind.

A room for acid, a room for death,
a room for pornography, packaged, parceled, and labeled.


The rooms go on,
A riddle with no answer.

Rust, Rust, Rust, Red Remnants,
the corrosion of men's fears.


How deep did we delve into the the mother's arms,
for fear of fight or foe?

Then I feel it,
the icy touch of fear at the base of my spine.


There before me is the final gate,
the passage that so many, scared and screaming, have feared.

Something is there, something clawing to get out,
something hungry, something sharp.

Blackness.  Heart in my ears,
crashing through crystal mirrors.

 ...

I am alone now,
Crisp morning light streams through an open window.

Fright still clings to me,
like sheets of ice, slowly melting, breaking.

It fades to nothingness.
A backdrop to another day.

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