Wasteland
The sand goes on forever.
There is no water anywhere in sight.
No life survived the blast,
no flora nor fauna.
The fallout killed them slowly,
causing blisters on foot and hand,
and all that's left is gray sand.
No.
Not even sand.
Dust.
Ash.
The flatlands are broken every once in a while,
By a pillar of steel.
The remains of a once-proud skyscraper,
now crushed and deformed.
Beneath my feet as I walk, a crunch.
I stop and look down but wish I hadn't.
The skull of a child lays half-buried,
Broken now that my foot has crumbled it.
Nothing remains of New York
But the gray ash of death and destruction.
Millions; men, women, and children,
Gone in an instant,
and I can almost hear their screams.
Their eyes boiled in their sockets,
Skin simmered from bone.
Yet staring through this plastic window,
Inside my TyVek suit,
All those people are gone now,
Up beyond,
the Great Big Blue.
They're looking down at me,
A speck in the unbroken gray,
Walking down the street once known as Fifth Avenue.
No more bright lights,
The city has fallen,
Vegas and Boston and Seattle,
All the rest will crumble too,
Suffer the same fate as New York.
America will fall,
Losing many lives.
This was the first of many,
my friends,
Let's watch as the country dies.