How the World Ends

There’s a hat in a house that hangs by the door
that no one wears any more
there’s a crooked chair in a living room
that broke when sounded the crack of doom
There’s a kettle on a stove and a pot nearby
that boiled tears the children cried
and a roach in the bed of once-white down
and a hot wind where there was a town.

No one now knows what started
or what ended so abrupt
most are the dead that haunt us
and on our flesh they supped
They do not fear the darkness
to them it is their home
they reach out in the blackness
they wail when alone
and though we keep the light on
by burning bodies of our friends
they sneak out from the shadows
and whisper “This is how the world ends.”

3 thoughts on “How the World Ends

  1. Your writing skills are awesome. You should get your work published. I especially love the beginning of this poem … absolutely brilliant. Thanks for sharing your poems. 

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