Anger.

The dull light flickered,
and then conquered my desk.
I was not alone,
for I was not the one writing:
my rage gripped the pen so tight
as if to never let go.

Words crumbled into a scribble
as the pages started sliding;
a single sheet fell to the ground,
a single sheet fell gliding.

Your name clung to the page in bold
and caught my eye as it landed on a sculpture -
a parody of a lion, its mouth imitating biting...
But I had no time for that,
for I was not alone
and I was not the one writing.

Apocalyptic.

"The world is going to end next year!
and if not that year,
it'll definitely be the next year following."
And every time a doom-sayer appears
people get mouths for ears -
look at that the "truths" that they're swallowing.

It's like they want to believe that the world will end -
morbid curiosity taken way too far.
I almost hope that they're right, so I could see them fend
for themselves in the world they were wishing for.

Colour-Blind.

It's hard to imagine life without love;
like it is to imagine life without colour or sound -
where the same shade of sky,
would meet the same shade of ground.
But falling in love is like finding a new colour:
it keeps changing the picture
until the picture's not the same with any other.

Nuclear.

No one could have known
that the fire would burn so bright.
An all consuming wave of terror
branding hate into the night.
Piercing the veil of darkness,
a drab and desolate plane sees day.
So a violent sun followed a violent eve -
'Abandon hope all ye' who enter',
'lest you take note and leave.