End Of The World Poem by Insignia Rose

A deathly place where no sounds reach...
The cooing of a hawk with it's beak.

The harpie lands on the carcass of old,
watching the fire burn them all cold.

This vulture of death cackles into the night,
The stars twinkle with her,
all afright.

Death shuffles across this road,
past these vultures,
past those foes.

The stars all glimmer, lighting His way;
His dusty black cloth, is fading away.

Husky breathing as he drags his scythe,
making a scraping noise,
upon all's strife.

The world is ending,
and the bloody screams are high;

Yelping in fear,
in anger gone inside.

Their bones are mashed into shapeless piles,
their blood is draining down the sewers;

And all they do is stare aloft,
to those stars, that will care not.

Their faces set in grim smiles,
The reaper takes his share of souls.

The fiery embrace of the sticky dark,
Has finally laid its toll...


His soulless eyes wander this wasteland,
His scythe is murmuring coarse words;

The ruffling of feathers disturbs this silence,
to the end of the world now heard.

His laughter...is all that is heard.