The first bloom
A red point of colour shining amongst the grey stones,
Rubble scattered randomly across this land’s bare bones,
Twisted metal tossed aside like autumn leaves in the wind,
Dead tree trunks cowering away from where it was pinned,
Their leafy green life blown away like an extinguished candle,
Gone is that token of love carving in its bark signed by a vandal,
In their place a wood of metal pylons half melted in tortured shapes,
The centre is filled with the corpse of a power plant where a hole gapes,
Its blood and energy exploding out over this monochromatic wasteland,
A lifeless scene of devastation silently poisoned by particles fanned,
By manmade winds of a harsh winter spread for miles around,
Radiation dosages deadly to all living on this ravaged ground,
Ash deep as freshly fallen snow covering evenly like a duvet,
Blocking the tenacious sun rays and keeping spring at bay,
But enough restorative light squeezes through to the land,
Invigorating a seed to grow a red poppy in this grey sand.
Part Dalek 