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| Open Poetry #49 |
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The last |
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Walter Poe Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 787 |
'But who are they?' A thousand silhouettes bobbing against the dying light of the last sun. Not quite Monsters, Not quite Men. 'We do not know who or what they are All we know is that they come Each time a sun blinks out They flock to its rest Like Pallbearers for light' The heads moved in time as the sun burned and spat. Their movements hypnotic, almost melodic. They danced such a strange dance to the flame and the plasma dance before them. 'Is it always like this?' 'There are not always so many, but then, this is the last after this the suns no longer will shine and they will no longer dance.' 'Or if they do we will not see them' 'This is the end we will see nothing after this' 'Will they dance again do you think?' 'No I don't think they will. I think this is their pilgrimage the whole of what they are. Their reason and here it ends.' A bright flare erupts. The forms mould into one in that second forced up and out in a strange echo of the final death throws of the final Sun spat out the last of its legacy. 'So what do they look like close up? Has anyone seen?' 'They are as you see them now just darkness in form. They suck in the light like a sponge. They are gaps, they are nothingness and soon they will be gone. Without the kiss of the sun the darkness will take them as it takes everything.' And the light collapsed in. The sun receded back in unto itself and as the light faded so did the creatures. Their dance presumably done or perhaps now they will dance on forever, forever unseen. The last sun burns its last breath and Darkness will once again inherit the universe and we too now fade away I aint as good as I once was but I'm as good, once, as I ever was. - Toby Keith |
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