IV

A Cuckoo called my name tonight
and broke my pointless sleep.
It dragged me from my nightmare's hold
and suicide's cold creep.

I shook the shadows from my head
and gathered up my world;
a rucksack, packed with who I am,
my dull brown flag unfurled.

That bird-call was a prophecy,
a warning to beware
that Death was out there, stalking me,
and fixed me with his stare.

I shouldered hope and scored the land
as, heading dark to dark,
I sought the source of nature's caw,
my guardian angel lark.


V

I came upon a place of home;
a building that still stood,
with droopy door and sleepy windows'
memories of wood.

The Cuckoo's call had led me here
in deference to my quest,
but night yet tried to hide from me
the jewel it could divest.

Eventually I found my boon,
my sustenance of food
in tins sealed tight against the smog
of fallout's rancid brood.

As fibre filled my womb with hope,
determination's fuel
was spice upon this rarest meal.
Starvation's madness cooled.


VI

The bedroom spawned a precious tear,
a fresh line on my cheek.
Two skeletons hugged on a bed
decayed, macabre and meek.

Their eldritch mouths touched in a kiss,
a love defying death.
I wept in honour of their lives,
remembering lovesick breaths.

I covered up their modesty
with moth-worn blanket's cloud
and searched their sanctuary for aid;
I never felt less proud.

I came upon a gun and shells,
still oiled and well preserved;
security and danger mixed,
a cold comfort absurd.


VII

I hit my path with vim renewed
and strode into the void
of shadows clutching at the earth,
no longer paranoid.

I knew that I must find a place
of haven in this land,
and so I wandered, determined,
across the hostile sand.

I chanced upon a rocky crag
and narrow valley's mouth.
My instincts set ablaze my mind
with dark warnings uncouth.

I grabbed my pistol from my waist
and primed a ready shot,
but then a cold click rang behind:
This might just be my lot.