P O S T - A P O C A L Y P T I C
The end of everything we know is said to bring about a new world.
So this is the Eden weve all perceived as placid?
At the end of the world, when day ceased dawning,
Everlasting darkness crept up - silent, yawning,
Bored not of its prisoners, the feeble and few,
Who it kept trapped in life, some old, most new.
Tired, perhaps, from its all-night shifts,
Never blinking an eye of those deep-black rifts,
Dotted with pale and ghastly lights,
A reaper of hopes, of dreams, of rights.
Spin the planet forward a few million years,
A sight to behold, the absence of fears,
The dust has settled and the air has cleared,
Although something is strange, off and weird.
Humans, as they were, exist no longer,
Evolution hasnt occurred, life isnt stronger,
No plants have blessed the Earth for ages,
Just a barren wasteland through which war wages.
Bones have decayed and our presence is null,
Cities are long-gone, with nature as their hull,