In The End

The trees have been bent,
It's birds fly aground,
And around the shallow, cool pools of the forest,
Animals fall down.

Veins bleed red toxic,

Eyes blind in the light.
The sun's never coming,

The dark must have won the great fight.

Only grey, round, polluted clouds,

Answered by blank faces.

What has happened?

The moon, too, just cannot place it. 

It is the end.

Reviews

[QuothCorvid]

This poem has a sense of hopelessness, and rings of truths. Well done!