The End Of Everything

There was a pitch black odour, 

Fuming on a night so pure that it could be in the truest form of betrayal,

One would still not know for sure.

Hiding behind an unearthly vacuum,

Surpassing too many walls inward,

It felt final -

The moments to spend seemed the only ones that needed to stay.

This end was easier than any other end.

A sound burst in, screaming the word of the worlds,

That claimed to be real, but never were in the dreams and daylight of a hundred months.

Suddenly they had to prove,

Not just an apple of a burnt wood,

They had to prove and display the roots.

No vision was firm enough than a tree dying to rest its soul.

It was a last resort.

The lingering wave of fear was sliding away like a heavily bled soldier's corpse.

Hope, still fleeing, wasn't needed at all.

But then it came, with a deafening sweep and blinding morose -

Light, more light than ever before.

Eating away through the pain and power,

Shaming the night and its deepest desires,

It came 

And it went

From distance to death.

The vacuum it filled, the stars, it killed

And the silence it left on the whims of a storm. 

Phantoms of a time ahead, 

Stole a breath, well kept.