if no one's left alive?

people are invisible
on the edge of the dragon field
where their ears grow cold;
their silent eyes grow a protective shield;
they sleep under the night stars
eating pockets of toxic air,
trying to see what needs to be seen,
but they'll only sit and stare
like friendly ghosts
looking upside down to nowhere,
missing an angel's wing,
having an imaginary argument with God,
believing in a little something or perhaps anything,
finding no reason to be mad
or catch a deeper breath;
they're lulled into complacency
with great stories of a hero's death.
closer and closer their fate
to the Bikini Atoll nuclear test,
these remaining survivors of a terrible mushroom cloud
stay silently screaming, crying out loud
as fallout ash spreads, their day becomes dark.
the common flowers lose their color,
healthy trees lose their protective bark;
many of the floating ships sink
into their burial vault
but where are those responsible
to accept the fault?
the killer of man and his mate?
no one is willing to be first in line,
others show up much too late!
what will happen to the children
as the seasonal rains fail to arrive?
who will be left to tell the story
if no one's left alive?
and while the solitary sun glows fiery red,
there's still no roaring at the sky.
words are created to comfort and reassure,
but any rescue promise is a lie!