The End


The world will end at nighttime,

When left open is the sky.

The shroud of blue is thrown back

And down good people lie.

But standing on the street corners,

Bathed in orange light,

Stand the devils that do not fear

the open skies of night.

And what of those

Who stay up late

In a vigil of love

And not of hate?

The cold, dark souls that walk the streets

Will all get dragged to hell.

And the lovers that to their pillows cry?

They'll go down as well.

Emma Nay

A Staggered Goodbye


Silver thumb ring, loose on the skin

Of a cold morning being pinched by November frost,

That which manipulates your full attention.

All that’s left of the last five years

Rubs against a glove, curves and shines.

It warms up to a different version of its old self,

In close proximity with life.

All other possessions are packed up

and now your eyes are good to go.

A ring bought in Edinburgh sparkles as a sole reminder

Of what has been,
Of the end of things.
All other possessions are packed up
and now your eyes are good to go.

As the end of year frost,
Craving attention, marauds the eventual.
It stubbornly pinches your cheeks,
Not letting you leave
Before it has a final chance to distract you.

Elspeth Vischer