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Source: http://www.cruzine.com/2013/02/04/creative-illustrations-beatriz-martin-vidal/ via jesssmk on The Matboard

I think I’ll take this last bus home.

My jihad is ended – the mirage

has crumbled, and all that remains

is a poker-faced night,

and the blind sunlit

alley of day.


I followed their voices, their

ashen-faced murmurings;


I heeded their dire warnings

that the world had to be saved.


I saw fire in their eyes

and tried to sow an ember in

my own soul.

It burned – a little at first,

then more…

fear singed my conscience,

and euphoric, I turned my back

to the sunshine of home.


Then last night,

the blood flowed too long

in a forest of weeping shadows.

The red river with its

swollen corpuscles

seemed full of promise –

then, she staggered

at my feet –

Who was she – meek white moon

in icy sky?


This bus will take me home

to a warm meal and clean

flowered sheets.


The metal body heaves,

and a voice asks,

“Ticket? Where to?”

I try to remember –

the name, the number…