Kismet

kismet

A strange sound in the village, not an alarm
It went on in short intervals
Perhaps they were tasting something we
We were not a part of.
After some time, the sound went on me
Nerves it frightened me it was 
The doom-laden telling of times to come when
Our world is aflame and hurtles through space
And all gold melts.
Ashes to ashes that is the way it goes
Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

Poem

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