The End Is Near

The smoking funnels, turned upside – down;
The blocks moving faster than ought to.
Time warming up – a rehearsal
To end a slow demise.

The little that little things did
To return in kind the deed
Toward an ungrieving sentience
Spun the cogs that chugged End on.

Surprise and shock born
Just as seeds stayed asleep.
Refuse that was cycled, gullet through gullet,
And ended just as before.

Greed: too hard to contain,
The desire to live off the dead.
Sympathy for other things,
Long after came their end.

The touch of poison on the lips –
Momentary pain, and an endless addiction.
A high of insensibilities,
With the generous relapse.

Prophets whispering the end
Of you and all your kind.
Fallen in the eye of minions,

You die, to fulfill a tyrant’s curse.