THE
LAST LIFE
In the south, a city, dressed in fiery magenta,
Sails through the silent night in pain.
Its auburn wings flutter like a wounded sparrow
Through a bloody battlefield, where the dead sprawls and the living migrates to another world.
Each of its heart contraction, crimson tears drip
Like the tiny drops of Normal Saline from an IV bag,
Each of its wail, a quiet plead for peace and help.
A city, without its inhabitants, fights its way to the peaceful, cyan ocean to die.
Tri Tran
Huntington Beach, CA