The eclipse is upon us

and ol’ Riley beats

the drums of war.


Celebrating the end

of the world as we

know it,

under the ever darkening sky,

as the moon is slowly lost

to sight, only to be

illuminated shortly

in a baleful red glow.


The land is locked

in a frozen grip.

Changes hold deep and broad.


A bloody wasteland revealed

by the baleful light above.


The cold wind whips,

its icy fingers grip,

frigidness of the soul.


None can know

that which is coming,

but by the signs in the sky

you can be sure of its approach.


©2018  Aaron Meyer

If you enjoy these poems perhaps you might like to read POEMS: AN EXPLORATION OF LIFE.  My first book now available on Amazon in paperback and Kindle worldwide.

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