From the fading sunlight in the East, to the encroaching darkness beyond it’s withered wake, I’ve seen the apocalyptic end of all things. A blackness without equal comes for us all. It breathes deceit and fury. It creeps into the corridor of men’s souls and takes fatal residence there. It owns the night and smothers the fledgling dawn. This devastating nightmare knows no end; and it comes soon.
For as high as the horizon and as far as the eye might see, a blackened doom envelops the visual cortex. It snuffs out the sound of our screams and renders our parched tongues mute. Our ability to flee such a wordless horror is useless against an adversary that limits our very existence. There is nowhere to run. A bottomless abyss of pain is our home now. Hope remains crushed and crumpled beneath withered feet.
We blindly wave our arms in despair, hoping to make contact with some semblance of normalcy; or even another lost soul to hopelessly cling to. Someone we might confide in. There is none. We are alone. We follow on the beleaguered footsteps of our predecessors. Death is a personal apocalypse. All is lost in the stifling confines of the silk-lined pine box.
mymindfudge 