The Sun Was Dying

~Due to some serious wildfires, the sky in my area was covered in smoke for an extended amount of time. It turned the sky various shades of pink, and caused all the sunlight to be an eerie shade of red.

One day, I was sitting in a coffee shop with a friend, lit by this strange weird orangey-ness that was the sky, writing cliche poems about being excited for Fall, and she made a joke about how the sun looked like it was dying, prompting this.~

The sun was dying.

It cast it's dimming, orange light on the city, but no one noticed or cared.

If anyone did happen to note anything, they merely drew scarves over their faces, muttering about wildfires and smoke, blown in from the gorge, and moved on with their lives.

But the smoke wasn’t what was causing the various shades of pink and orange in the sky.

It was the sun dying.

It sputtered, trying to stay alive,

trying to continue to provide life and warmth to the solar system.

But the fuel was exhausted, and soon the light and warmth would be gone.

The moon would grow dark,
ice would descend upon the Earth.
Glaciers would creep south,
and the whole face of the earth would be covered.

Soon the only pinpricks of light would be the stars, twinkling in a permanently velvet dark sky.

The people of the Earth will cry out, and raise their voices and arms to the sky, lamenting the death of the light and warmth.

But the sun will not answer,
nor will it hear.

It will be dead, like the hearts of men.

And savage beasts will roam the earth, some on four legs, some on two.

The cliffs will be bare, devoid of vegetation.

Animals will turn carnivorous in the sight of so much death and scarcity of plant life.

Will people live in caves again?

Huddled around crude fires in search of warmth,
clothed in the fur of slain beasts?

Will they hear the voice of God no more? Or will the voice of the Lord thunder, amplified by the bare rock and ice?

Or perhaps the sky is merely full of smoke, and I have run mad.