The Beginning Of The End Poem by James Papastamos

A dying sun, a rising moon
it's hard to say, such days lack air;
As rainbows of emotion cross
that great divide, I fear what's there.

The hands of time move back yet forth
my days held captive by the hour;
And tears of God shall rain on me
awash, imprisoned by such power.

My death shall herald my new life
mid graves that grapple with my soul;
On clouds that squander every tear
as memories relive such toll.