Day Seven

So I've never been big on writing poetry, because whenever I try to write a poem it comes out pretentious and overly crafted. This year I took creative writing which gave me no choice. One poem I wrote I actually really liked, and it sprung from one of the most random trains of thought I've ever had. My teacher suggested I try it as a prose poem, which is the kind of thing it's next to impossible to write without wondering if you're not just writing a paragraph (I still have no idea).

I think the bolded sub-titles are horribly pretentious but I love them for some reason.

Day Seven

Manifesto

And then they begin to fall, one by one, then in twos and threes, and soon the sky is screaming with stars. They strike the earth, sending a slow gentle rumble through the ground that we feel coming long before it hits us. The end of the world is a slow thing, it is deliberate and bright and leaves no room for misinterpretation. She looks at me, streams of light painting her face, and says, simply, I'm kind of hungry.

Declaration

We go into the shack, flashlights bleeding out beams of half-sincere vision, making our way over debris and through half-collapsed doorways into the kitchen. The power has been out for days but the gas still works. All I find in the pantry is some bread and two slices of cheese. Okay then, I'll make you a sandwich. She insists I have one too, even though I think a sandwich with just one slice of cheese is
kind
of
depressing.

Resolution

It's dark inside, so we lay a blanket on the grass, to have a picnic. We listen to the destruction, bathed in starlight, and take small bites, because sitting here, surrounded by the sundering of the earth, the howling of the sky, the profound, immaculate sense of loss and dread, it's actually kind of nice. We smile at each other while we chew, and wait for it to end.

I can't decide if I really like it better this way. As someone who prefers things in paragraphs, I was surprised how much I liked this in verse. We'll see.