When the skies turn black,
I won’t look back
to see the stampeding hordes.

I’ll raise up my arms
and sound the alarms,
while the blood of humanity pours.

I won’t just give in
to mortal sin,
as the world crumbles to ash.

I’ll keep out of sight,
from celestial light—
paranoia spills out with a splash.

The smell of decay,
as they stumble away,
will do nothing to calm my nerves…

Alive, but just barely—
I will try to carry
the enchanted tome of lost words.

Hands to the sky,
I’ll look out and cry;
a witness to all it consumes.

It feasts and it lurks,
yet my magical quirks,
won’t slow the creeping doom.

So, when the sky’s torn,
the planet will mourn;
my hands will weave through the air—

I’ll mumble goodbyes,
while everything dies,
trying to vainly escape my despair.

∼ Lydia Prime

© Copyright Lydia…