Eighty Years Later Poem by Obed dela Cruz

The night was dark
And it came so fast
A clueless world
It goes unaware
Did history
Just repeat the past?
Or is it new
This kind of affair?

They never thought
It would be for real
The Shooting Star
Took their friends away
Does heaven know
Its own time to steal
The ones they loved
When the skies turn gray?

Will still there be
A glimpse of sunshine?
Why is the moon
Slowly turning red?
The stars, they fall
Many dreams decline
The sky has closed
Its room for the dead.

A timetable
So short it had been
Just eighty years
There was nothing more.
O Eighty years!
When did you begin?
The world is not
Like the way before.