A Certain Silence

When our empty world spins silently black rains will wash the sky and the sun will shine ferociously upon seas that have boiled dry. Those hopes and dreams of yesterday float lost upon the breeze and carved out names on summer days will adorn the fallen trees. When the Gods outnumber worshippers whose battles have been done, It will be too late to ponder then just exactly what they'd won. No poets then to scar the page to tell of loves gone by, or write those final epitaphs from inkwells long run dry. No more will ugly minds disgrace when the power games have ended, just Earth back to the Universe as nature had intended.