On going back inside that rusted chamber.

a green piece of island
in the middle of a brown desert
a watchtower on the island
not very high
its light flickering
a flickering white light in the middle of a desert
is it a signal to somebody?
or is it just faulty?
it flickers day and night
is anybody else paying attention to it?
how would I know
while it flickers, I watch it
that is all I do with it
whatever little life is left in people,
they are slowly coming back to it
slowly but coming back
coming back to it slowly
I wanted the horrific days to last longer
going back to life as before
haunts me to a certain degree
I walk away from the watchtower
I think about it
I imagine it flickering
I imagine it rotating fast
I imagine it flying in the air
and finally bursting to pieces.

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– tomic riter