kt-540738-unsplash

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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s