The End

The haze has all but settled in, bringing the light to a weary dim.
All I see is your face, the red silhouettes begin to fade.

We were told it would be great; shown a mirror of the world’s fake tricks—a mistake.
Red smoke still billows from where we once stood. Never will we wake the same.
For if we could, turn the rusted hands back; for time to be tamed.
It’s never going to give, the fight is all gone. Our bodies are battered, broken—we are done.

Long ago, I was once shown a magic trick I swore. I was five, where then I had thought, my what a bore.
Now I see, before the light’s passing breath. It was all a warning, a precautionary tale.
The wind grinds our bodies into dust. Life’s lust is now gone, offering only a putrid musk.
Crimson ashen sands of time pass now through the vacuum of a now decrepit space time hourglass.
An instant of Hell for a moment, with no course for atonement.

You looked at me when we heard the world cry. You gazed hard—our eyes—with our last embrace not even death could pry.
In our hands did we hold each other. Where we returned to the Mother Earth, held close to her bosom.

We were told it would be great; shown a mirror of the world’s fake tricks—a mistake.
Red smoke still billows from where we once stood. Never will we wake the same.
For if we could, turn the rusted hands back; for time to be tamed.
It’s never going to give, the fight is all gone. Our bodies are battered, broken—we are done.

Heaven did not come, nor did Hell; darkness warranted without a toll.
For now we see only the blackest of blacks. I know you’re with me, even through the lack of. . .
Color was only a divider, sent to bleed our eyes. What others could not see, they surely did when they all said their goodbyes.

And so the end has come, just as it does for us all. Humanities reign, crumbled, and is no longer so tall.
The embers still burn, the scorch marks from where we once stood. The silhouettes in red fade to black, there was nothing we could. . .
Do those that are left have any hope?

Burning brightly in the night, the flames waltz until their dying breath. Like all things, we will cease to be.
This—this is the end. Goodbye.

Author: Sincados

Writer, gamer, foodie, brew enthusiast, and awesome dad. Also likes to make explosions...but not in any particular order.

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