Written on May 5th, 2025 for Edward Ibeh's Pick-A-Title, Vol 51 - Poetry Contest, 4. Frozen Side of The Sun
Turning over in a ruffled bed, stark red numbers sear 4 a.m. into bloodshot corneas. Nothing but darkness creeps through threadbare curtains, frozen in place. A desolate silence becomes deafening, as birdsong no longer crescendos— what would have been the breaking of dawn. It's been six years now since our brightest star was thrown out of orbit, exposing the frozen side of the sun. No longer does our planet experience the warmth of its radiation, nor the glow of its solar flares. Within a fraction of a second, humanity was plunged into an everlasting night. Temperatures plummeted; mass hysteria was at its peak. Crops perished within hours to days, as the new icy tundra eclipsed once-thriving farmlands. The birth of a perpetual Ice Age was at hand. Power grids crystallized and snapped. Cities crumbled; small towns were blotted out, disappearing off the map, never to be seen again. Death's gelid hand spared but a few souls— holed up in a scientific research bunker in the Arctic. We are but the unlucky few who get to “live” in this glacial purgatory, wandering aimlessly forevermore.
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Written on May 5th, 2025 for Edward Ibeh's Pick-A-Title, Vol 51 - Poetry Contest, 4. Frozen Side of The Sun