by Tom Bajoras
There are terrible echoes in the halls at night,
high above the chamber of the world—
Gods, some say, are plotting our downfall.
There are thunderous explosions in the sky,
and writing in blood on the moon.
The prophets are speechless,
but there is a child, less than 5 years old,
who knows what time it is.
He tries to tell us,
but we laugh at him.