The Descent Of The Dark Days Poem by Joseph Wraithbone

The lone black cloud shuffled in,
It was the start of the darkness on the wind.
The people were indifferent about the shadows above,
But the lone black cloud was getting bigger each day.

People started to walk silently in a crowd on the streets,
No words to passing friends, no faces to greet.
They put on a solemn blank face of emotion,
And went throughout their day, going through the motions.

And all the while that their hearts grew cold,
The lone black cloud kept on unfolding.
It reached the edges of the city's limits,
And started to brush the ground within it.

The people now we filled with hatred of a dangerous kind,
With blood in the streets once filled without crime.
Their young had to fend for what ever was left,
And the old died bitter choking on their final breath.

The city grew numb of its inhuman ways,
And the lone black cloud was now a misty haze.
It cover it each window on every last block,
Like smoke in a battlefield that would never stop.

The people grew sick as the fighting endured,
Corpses littered the walkways,
As men fought their hopeless wars,
For food or for money, what difference did it make,
They were after another's life,
What else should they take?

The black mist seeped in through chimney and doors,
And filled every corner with darkness like none other before.
For days it was night and night again,
With no stop to the dark days the worst set in.

People hung from their rafters by their own hand,
Others stole from the beggars and went rampant through the land.
Some burned down the houses in hopes that the light
Would break this deep darkness and the death it had brought.

Nothing seem to phase the mass of black cloud,
And then one day it shuffled right on along.
In its wake was a city so ruined and charred,
No one was left living,
And so the black cloud shuffled on...