Pop
She came to the Arctic on whaleback,
An untouched island, oft’ left of the map.
Every sunrise, she brought to the shore
222 crates of red-canned soda, placing black-dust in their core.
Every mild season, the whale completed his lap,
Bellowing greetings to the Arctic girl, who gave his island-head a pat.
One night as he came, she raised a light he’d never seen before.
Wrath and anger danced above and between all the frozen tranquil sea,
through the sleeping lands, cracks then tore.
“Farewell,” she said, “for I am war,”
The soda fizzled, then it popped.
Ice-cubes broke away, shattered and chopped,
Pain cracks the whale’s back, floods his heart with a sharp snap,
And for six long days, the shore shakes as the waves roar.
Angel numbers are repetitive number sequences originating from Ancient Greece, and their appearance is believed to signify a message from the universe. 222 represents trust.
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