The Last Day

The sun will come up in a thick dark sky.
The silhouette building shapes silently stare.
The hand of a thing will shudder and die
like so many unfinished jobs everywhere.

A cold oily ocean will flop on the shore
as feathers float earthward,
as bones lean and fall.

A sound will appear like a deep deep drum.
Air pure and incredibly still.

Then everything fades to an infinite grey,
on the last day.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.