Coup d'oeil

As my forbearers firebombed the outskirts
and paved city streets in chromatic parades,
the wonders of the world
fell to my marauding progenitors
potentially freeing me from my ascension.
I should thank them, but I will not.
Their bursts and beams of light
covered the cloudscapes and deciduous sky
turning sun to shadow and saturnine smiles.
A caliginous concert for the converted.
Surely tomorrow will never come.
Eden is in a mushroom cloud.