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
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