Nuclear Winter

There were only a few signs at first:
Rumors on the streets,
sidelong glances and knowing looks,
specific questions and awkward conversations.

Then it became more obvious:
Outright accusations,
those close to me getting ready,
news from (un)verified sources.

The explosion came long after:
It shook the ground as ire spewed from our mouths,
sending people nearby running for cover.
Smoke billowed out from our ears and noses.

Words, like flaming comets raining to the ground,
littered down and burned both of us.
We hissed and seethed like bubbling water, burning anyone
that was unfortunate enough to be close to us.

The radioactivity alone was the silent killer,
the air too toxic to breathe in.
We were immune to the poison, since we were the source,
so we drank it in as it killed our lungs.

The fallout was shocking; nothing was spared.
Everything that remained was reduced to rubble and ashes.
We sat in silence for a while as we took this in.
There was no hope for an "us" anymore.

What came next was a nuclear winter.
Ashes cascaded down, like snow, like tears.
The whole world was nothing but grey and black,
with streamers of red and gold burning brightly.

Dead silent was the volume inside my head.
All I could see was grey and red and gold.
Everything tastes like dust and poison.
What had compelled us to launch this attack?

They said look for life among the dead.
Something good must have come out of the wreckage.
Everything living is twisted and mutated
from the radiation that seeped into this wasteland.

Until we spot a patch of blue among the grey above,
there will be no sunshine left in my head.
Until we find life that's living and whole,
this wasteland will remain a graveyard.