PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

    Somehow, we avoided it. We managed to survive the early 21st century without Armageddon. Whether by miracle or design, our world survived; through thousands of years of prophesy, wars, crooked politics, we made it; and yet. The world doesn’t feel any safer.

    Walking these filthy streets, I can’t help but feel as though something is wrong. It isn’t the crime, or the prostitution; it isn’t even the hints of anarchy. No, there is something else. I don’t yet get what, and I pray it amounts to nothing, but; you never know.

     The city has a way of hiding the truth. The bright, welcoming glow of the holosigns as they burn through the night sky, have a way of luring you in, taking away your attention from the constant military presence. The call of the night life tries to drown out the feeling of unease. For most of the people here, it succeeds.

    Many nights, I have fought my way through random citizen check points, gang turf, and women of the underground; both human and synthetic alike, all trying to offer pleasure in exchange for my soul. It is one of the few things I own in this life and I plan to keep it until my last breath; then, the devil may take it.

    Like the Ronin of old, I wonder in search of a master, that master, being truth; being the key that unlocks the door to the knowledge of what has been my burden. Behind everything that is wrong with this city, something even more terrifying must be growing, I know my feelings would not betray me.

    Someone, or something, must be feeding off the darkness. The increasing tensions between the gang factions, the build up of police/military units, and the general uneasy feeling that permeates this place must be driving its very existence.

    I risk my life. Breaking curfew, entering off limit territory, and venturing into the underground, where my kind isn’t wanted, and often warned to stay way from. But I have to know if my feelings are true, and if so, how do I deal with what I fear may come to be?

    The stench of this cesspool is oftentimes more than I can bear, the sight of it, too much to take in; I feel like an angel among the demons, ready to be pulled into hell at any moment, but I will not give up until I have proven my visions to be true or imaginary. Did we truly avoid our doom, or merely delayed its coming?