Cold Apocalyps

The stones are tucked in for the night

with a blanket of untouched snow.

It may be July

but the cold is all we now know.

 

The world is dead

the stones mark the spot

where beings shall forever

rest and rot

 

The sun no longr

shines down

every happy smile

turns to frown

 

no child remembers

to laugh and play

the joy has died

as did the day

 

the last butterfly

broke its wings

the last choir

forgets to sing

 

hearts as cold

as the world in which they live

no heart

has any love left to give.

Reviews

[BLACKCRUSH]

Excellent imagery, this definitely makes me think of a nightmare.

You put alot of great detail into this.

Nicely done.

[Arthur Crow]

Nice flow and rhyme here and good emotional depth. Love the title!

[Legion]

Definetly apocalyptic. The imagery is excellent. Well done.

[AaronPhobia]

This is a very good poem =]