“The End of All Things” by Eric Dean, August 2011

[This poem was first published in issue 9 of The Literary Hatchet. More details HERE]


It rises from the boiling black of a lifeless and churning dead sea

Corpses choke the maelstroms, caked in crimson foam and seaweed

It rises into a night sky alight with burning clouds and white lightning

A fulgurous symphony blinds and deafens an awestruck audience

The sky ignites, pulsing like a dying heart as the gasses dissipate

Atmosphere bleeding into the never

Luna turns and flees her post as her abandoned children wail

Stars brilliant as the air thins

Nebulae and comets scream past like celestial foghorns

Their music silent no more to the ears of sinners

Still it rises

Stars blink out of existence

Their light lost to the insatiable appetite of patrolling black holes

Gravity loses its grip, and earth begins to crack

As it rises, wings outstretch to shade our pale faces from the failing sun

The weight of its gaze pushes us to our hands and knees

We grip the dying planet with feeble fingers and pray

To a God who may very well stand before us

Raising his long hand and tilting back his head

A drone song to drown out our cries

And signal the end of all things.


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