Death By Sun

Once in a vision that came to me as I dreamed awake
I heard Death speak in an unutterable tone of voice to all humanity
Saying, " why must you come unto me in ceaseless waves generation after generation 
Like flailing puppets of chaff trumpeting your tiny kingdoms of babble blindly to the dust
Perpetual pretenders of soul, whilst slaughtering one another and any other convenient species
Unfortunate enough to be confined and bound with you to your finite, much abused sphere,
How long think ye shall the world be made to suffer from the madness of such a scourge?"
And humanity replied to Death. "[.                                                      .]"
Hearing only the same sad void it had always known, Death stoically gathered the long slow harvest of eons into a bundle for burial rite,
Whispering in a breath so chill and dread the very Sun was turned to ice...

Poetry by Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2013-08-28 at 00:27

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StillHoppin The PoetBay support member heart!
I hope that we have more than that void... perhaps the voice of poetry is a whisper, but there is meaning in the words... and I am certainly no optimist, but this makes me look downright cheerful by comparison... ;) There is beauty in your words, Chauce, but it doesn't make them any less depressing. ;)


Book Of Night
by Chaucer Whethers