Solar Demise

We are the last, the remnants of the void.

One by one the stars that birthed us have gone gold.

Behind us lay a million worlds, frozen lifeless rocks all.

Together we wait as the final sun flickers and fades.

As the days grow colder our hope also wanes.

We are pursued by a chill that will not fade.

It is a relentless death that slows the body and makes grotesque statues of us.

By Nicholas Byrley

I know I’ve already done a poem about the cold. But, I hate it so much. So I had to do another.

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