Dusk

An open-ended poem that I originally wrote about the end of the world.

The wind moans meekly 'round the towers,
The sidewalks are slick with dark ice,
Soft waves lick at crumbling buildings,
And the sun's shining red in the sky.

The poles and the cars are all broken,
The telephone lines have all snapped,
The rooms lay desolate, silent,
Windows staring like dead lightless eyes.

Not a sound of children playing,
No trees to rustle or birds to sing,
The emptiness hangs on the air,
The silence oppressive and dank.

A man sits alone at the corner,
His hat pulled down over his eyes,
Intently he's sitting there,
Fingers nervously drumming.

He's sitting there counting down time.