The Midsummer Night Scream

Trees bend in warm summer winds and
the planetary pulse is quickening
fluctuating like spectroscopes in night skies.
Broadcast on all frequencies.
Seven billion monkeys scream into microphones
a distress call transmitted into the vast cosmos.
There is a contaminating scent of despair on the streets
in offices people sit with their sons and daughters
working overtime, just in case we will survive.

They say the universe is made of sound.
A melodic phrase through flesh -- listen to the eigengrau
Detecting no incoming signal.
behind the words, the certainty of death mashes up
the ballad of mankind. But though the chords become discordant
they still hint of a former glory
once found in human hearts, and those courageous enough
to help a stranger in the witching hour.

On the last night on the earth, living rooms turn into campfires
around which stories swap mouths and oaths are absolved;
a sombre ending where your beloved can honestly say
that they feel what you feel. We have never been so close;
the narrative unfolds.
Breathing the same air.
the fluid chronology is a construct of this elegant frailty.
Love and dreams blend into whispered melodies.

And in accordance with all the absolutions formed
in the hour of fear, we end on a high note,
a howling epiphany that will echo long after
the song has faded out.
We see the same world
for it is also a night of great expectations, and
feelings once shrouded in modesty surface
and brings those huddled in their homes closer than ever.

During the last summer night scream
there is a great affection in the human heart
for all things living that will soon die.

Jonas Birge lives in Sweden where he usually spends his days copying words. But as a born futurist and r�verist, his idle hands produce nepenthean poetry potent enough to provoke nervous systems.

Find more by Jonas Birge in the Author Index.

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