End Times 3

The storm is over. The howling wind has ceased to Whirl and the driving Metal rain has stopped pounding This spectral landscape; Punctuated by green smears. Like sleet, wild birds Plummet from miasmal skies. Yet I can still hear The flowers and trees breathing; All the rest has been Transformed into stark silence. Only this silence And pitch-black darkness remain. It has been like this For days. Silence and darkness Are cruel and sly guests, Who've overstayed their welcome. Nothing can ever Be redeemed. O now it's that Fateful hour! The new Moon will soon become blood red. O light the old lamps In this crumbling house of dreams!