In Declining Years

    Lightning flashed in the west.
    A black cloud-like dragon
    Enveloped our world.  “Sing out,”
    A brave voice sounded – cut short
    By a hacking cough, followed by
    Clouds of smoke as he lit another
    Cigarillo.  “Oh ye doubters

    In piles, from one end of my
    Hall to the other.” He raised
    His other fist and shook it.
    The rafters rattled as
    The dark cloud settled around
    Us.  Night in its most extreme
    Manifestation trades away

    Our sun for four planets, a
    Meteor and a hand-full of
    Asteroids.  I thought there
    Would be more of a conflagration:
    Wars, fire and brimstone. But
    We have aged and become too
    Feeble to raise our hands in rage.