Weird Sky, Apocalypse is Nigh.
The pressure is building
So immense and intense,
And in my head the air is greasy and sparking,
And maybe this is octarine.
There’s a fucking weird sky.
Does that mean the end is nigh?
Honestly at this point the apocalypse would be a relief.
I’m sure you all know what I mean.
We’re all fed up to the back teeth of wondering,
Is this the day we die?
At one push of a button,
From an ego trip past all control,
From someone past the point of caring,
From a thousand people shouting in unison:
“We’re not listening.”
Is this how we lose our lives?
Or is it the end of days in this heavy, weighted sky?
Winds start to whip us,
But we’re not at breaking point just yet,
The pressure’s taking far too long,
Honestly, it’s overwhelming.
So we’ll make our doomsday jokes,
Share our pictures, call it pretty,
Ask what the horsemen want for tea.
The end of days,
That great equaliser,
Bringing us all together as we ponder a loss of future.
Feel the air getting closer,
See our patience getting thinner,
Because in this there can only be one winner.
And when that storm crashes down,
As it breaks and soaks us,
And the air chokes us with Saharan dust,
And the jokes dry up,
Nature will have her say.
But for now we can giggle about the end of days.
Todays #Inktober poem, inspired by weird weather. If you enjoy it, feel free to share!
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