World’s End.
A deepening hue, packaging crisp and dry,
Telescoping skies, hard bitten with dust
A sly moon, scarred and half-lit.
It didn’t end with a whimper
After all,
But brightly and loudly like a celebration.
It was proud of its going.
Colour spawned from a devil’s jaw, not
A god’s dull reason. Fire everywhere,
Referencing volcanic insinuations, the afterbirth of a planet.
The last man standing
Was burnt to a crisp.
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