*context: this is a piece I wrote in a poem-form while taking an apocalypse course*
In the Midwest, trains derailed leaving no tracks
In the East, tornados have swept away homes
In the Southeast, hurricanes have eaten up countless cities
In the Northwest, earthquakes swallowed whoever lived on a faultline
In the West, forest fires burned towns to a crisp leaving no sign of a livable future
Not a blank canvas
Not a fresh start
Not a new beginning
It’s called the finishing
Of North America
South of the equator is safe
Where natural resources are vast
Countries of the dictator
Whose inhabitants are typically outcast
Venezuela’s mountains protect
Colombia’s bananas provide sustenance
Brazil’s jungles hydrate
Argentina’s pastures provide protein
With no vegetation
Filled with frustration
Rising agitation
In complete desperation
North Americans migrate
To where seeds vegetate
Fertile soil
Countries with fields of oil
No borders to restrict entry
Entrance without pageantry
All are welcome
But first the journey must be overcome
Travel is by foot
Water is in hand
Lands are dried up
People are fed up
Belief is your best friend
Despair your enemy
Believe that what is now ashy and filled with debris
Will be lush green with birds flying free
Just like the avis
You, too, will grow wings
Free of destruction
Safe from eruption
The new land invites you
But peace is to be protected
Only the pure will survive
And, eventually, thrive
