Before you begin to read i would like to say that this poem was inspired by Stephen Kings' Under the dome.

They watch with a lazy interest,
eyes hidden behind a veneer of stitches.
We are the insects of our youth, caught in a jar.

We go on, unaware of our end to come,
engrossed in mundane regularity.
They set the wheels in motion.

Things change and we don't understand.
At first it's small but they feed it,
encourage it to grow.

We are on the inside and we come to know this as the end.
A final fight for life and love
and so we stand.

We stand behind the line,
we few who remain.
We battle the unseen.

Fires rage, leaving a dirty blemish upon the horizon.
The air chokes as we fall to our knees
and yet there is knowledge.

One sees that we are strong,
that our minds are higher
and she pauses to consider.

Are we worthy of her spite?
Is she bored of their game?
She thinks it is so.

She turns away then looks back.
A look that says She won't forget
A look that says She can do it again

As we stand we know.
We know  but we still don't understand.