[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.