Walking Towards The End Of Times Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken

Walking towards the end of times,
a sky heavy with unspoken warnings.
The earth shivers beneath restless feet,
cracked soil spilling stories of what was lost.

Clouds gather in whispered convocation,
their shadows long, swallowing the light.
Each step feels like an echo,
hollowed out, chasing the ghost of purpose.

The trees, bare and stoic,
stand like forgotten sentinels,
arms reaching for a fading horizon,
yet grasping only the emptiness of air.

Somewhere, a bird cries-
not a song, but a dirge,
its voice scattering into the thinning wind.
The silence that follows is heavy,
a weight pressing down on the chest of the world.

Time drips like melding ice,
each moment slipping into the void,
irretrievable, unrepentant.

Walking towards the end of times,
the path is neither straight nor clear.
It curves, doubles back,
but always leads forward.
Always towards the end.