Seeds I ~ A Trilogy


The burning seeds fell from the sky without warning
without drama
bursting through the atmosphere
landing on the ground and melting
burrowing into
mud grass concrete boardwalk rock sand
the hysteria burst and spread like a dandelion overblooming
and people prayed and wept and packed their cars and some strode around with shotguns pointed at the sky
and the heads of state wore grave expressions and conferred with scientists on national T.V.
and YouTube replayed the day the earth stood still and cocoon and total recall endlessly
and some people grinned vacantly and nodded as if in recognition
See, I told you so
and then
the raining down stopped
the ground and skies were quiet
all was… quiet
until the tendrils appeared.



About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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