Close Ranks

Clouds aflame are rising;

Close ranks,

For the unknown is coming.

An avalanche of ascending bodies

Produces an inhuman litany

From beyond the hill.

“It’s coming,” the mass rumbles, “it’s coming.”

To you,

Wielding your youth

As if it were a rifle.

Poet,

You only have one cartridge

To fight back the looming time.

by Jason R. Forbus