1

The flowers started taking over,
At about the same time that people decided,
To stop having babies.

There was no violence,
Or war,
Or power struggle.

The flowers simply began to talk,
Walk around,
And the remaining humans,
Thought it was weird,
But they didn’t mind.

The transition was smooth,
The flowers eager to learn,
And teach themselves the ins and outs,
Of civilization and sentience.

The humans resigned themselves,
To hopelessness and lethargy.

They knew they’d fucked up.
They just hoped the flowers,
Would learn from their mistakes.

2

This was all a long time ago.
All the humans are dead now,
Except one.

His name is Wilbur.
He’s an old man now.
The flowers keep him company,
Try to lift his spirits when they can.

He appreciates them,
But mostly likes to keep to himself.

He reminisces,
The lonely man’s favorite pastime.

He thinks of his wife.
She wanted to have a baby,
Bring hope into this world.

Wilbur refused,
Reciting all the objections,
That had become the mantra
Of the human race.

“This is no hope for our kind.
The world is a cesspool,
The innocent ripped to shreds,
The greedy sitting atop thrones of blood and gold.
Humanity must be allowed,
To die,
Let us just be happy,
Together.”

#

She left him.
She’s dead now.

And Wilbur,
Will spend the rest of his life,
Wondering if he was wrong.

The most horrifying thought,
Is that he might have been right.