Exceptional A spiritual sketch of the world of today The End of Time by estory

In the stillness of this evening Cast like a bronze at the end of time, The trees stand like the dead. The world lies in ruins,   Heaped under a grey sky Where the moon hangs motionless, Etched with disappointment. The cross on the steeple   Carries the pain of centuries Spent in cold war and revolution, Famine and retribution.  Caught in this ice age   In between times, Everything is waiting on light Like a man waiting for love At a pale window, facing east. Recognized Author Notes This poem, in a somewhat rigid quatrain format, its language kind of thin and stretched in tone, laced with images of ruins and stillness and sickly moonlight, unappreciated sacrifice and a yearning for love, is meant as a snapshot of our world of today. This chain link style of offset sentences, a stopping and starting halting pace of the language, is something I was always intrigued with since reading the poetry of the great Seamus Heaney. There is something of Relic of Memory in this poem, I think. I would remind the readers again that this collection was largely written during the year my father died, and so the depressed state of the mood can be explained by that event. That said, death is a powerful reality of life, and a necessary subject if one wants to articulate something of the human experience in their creative endeavors. As I do. Once again, I await the comments of the members....estory

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