THE END TIME
Sparkling rainbows are dead. It is the end time and all light has faded, all glimmers have gone, all potentials have dripped away. The land is stripped, the horizons are bare. Dark angels shuffle amongst the remnants, as they always did. The breath of men is a rattle, a death sigh, gaping toothless mouths that suck in nothing but bent and twisted dreams. Hold my hand angel, I dare you. Hold my hand and feel the pretence of humanity, of dark souls and upturned empathy. Good isn't it. Bet you don't get this in heaven, even in the underside version. The wind wraps itself round bare hillsides, around and through stumps of giant trees, the broken rotted teeth of nature. End times are always hard, end days are worse. Planets shift through their lives with untold creatures glued to their surfaces, as if endless. But as all creatures fade, so too do planets, and stars, and the cosmos itself - hence end times and end days. So hold my hand angel, if you dare, and we'll see this through together, as the world fades into darkness, as stark horizons drift away, as men fail and rainbows lose their sparkle.
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