Lone Poem by David Wicks

Watch as the flames dart across this black sky.
Wait for the sound of the Hell Banshee's cry.
Alone here on Earth, regretting thy birth,
The world lies alone with a single man walking.
This man, he is lost yet the voices are talking.
They tell him to run, they tell him to hide,
They tell him to listen, their rules to abide.
Yet stubborn he is; this man does not listen.
Across the dead planes a great palace doth glisten.
Curiosity takes the best of his mind
And to the great palace he searches to find
Some solace, solitude, someone to be with,
For finding another is this one man's pith.
Alone his foot steps upon the marble,
The echoing hallways his mind they do garble.
Hot desert sun beating through broken glass,
Here he shall wait for this nightmare to pass.
The sound of a person,
Her voice oh so soft,
Makes the ill of his worsen,
And his sanity doffed.
It rips him apart, he begins to cry,
On the ground his foot slip'th-will this man now die?
He falls out the space where windows were once placed,
To this lone man's dismay there is naught to embrace.
He falls to the hard sand and dirt of the ground,
His body, with force, on the dirt doth it pound.
He lies staring up at the clouds overhead,
And in this quick moment the last man is dead.