“Creating Cataclysm: Buarquean Construct”
I
He ignored his soul like it would last.
He cultivated his mind like it was his last,
And his body like it was weak,
And paced his room like he was meek.
He shuttered his windows like he was entombed.
He barricaded the street like he was doomed.
Door to door with insistent fervor,
Bleary-eyed about town with triumphant clamor.
He alerted the state like it was destiny.
He fled the coast seeking shelter.
He tumbled into waves like a deity.
When the Earth stopped, he imploded like a whirlpool.
He hurtled from the Earth like a tumbleweed,
And burned through the solar system like kindling,
And disintegrated through the galaxy like a dandelion,
And fluttered through the supercluster like a feather,
And vanished at the edge of the multiverse like he was gossamer.
II
He ignored his soul like it was his last.
He cultivated his mind like it was his last,
And his body like it was redundant,
And paced his room like he was a fervor.
He shuttered his windows like it was shelter.
He barricaded the street like he was a dandelion.
Door to door with insistent destiny,
Bleary-eyed about town with triumphant gossamer.
He alerted the state like it was doomed.
He fled the coast seeking clemency.
He tumbled into waves like a whirlpool.
When the Earth stopped, he imploded like a tumbleweed.
He hurtled from the Earth like a feather.
He burned through the solar system like a deity.
He disintegrated through the galaxy like he was entombed.
He fluttered through the supercluster like he was meek,
And vanished at the edge of the multiverse like he was weak.
III
He ignored his soul like it was kindling.
He cultivated his mind like it was a deity.
He barricaded the street like he was a tumbleweed.
He alerted the state like it was a dandelion,
And disintegrated through the galaxy like he was gossamer,
And fluttered through the supercluster like he was doomed,
And vanished at the edge of the multiverse like it was destiny.
IV
For this smog-ridden air; for this endless despair;
For this dank lair; for the demon not there;
For this thin hair; for this lack of care;
God bless me.
For your damned heir; for his empty chair;
For an answered prayer; for this rotten pear;
For this mended tear; for a divided pair;
God bless me.
For all I accidentally impair; for all you repair;
For a face so fair; for all you ensnare;
For a longing stare; for a passing scare;
God bless me.
Bernardo Villela has a BFA in Film from LIU Post. His first short film Suffer the Little Children, won four awards at 13 festivals worldwide. He has since branched out directing and editing short films, editing a feature, writing and directing a TV commercial; and writing and directing for theater. He’s most recently turned to fiction publishing a novella and three short story collections. You can read more about these various pursuits at www.miller-villela.com.