it’s the end of the world as we
know it and i can’t believe how
quiet the morning was, as if the
neighborhood was afraid to wake to the
day, knowing that when
all is said and done,
only consciousness will be
tolerated here, and all else
forced to follow suit.

there was no need to
go to church–
the silent houses
preached the sermon,
obeying the hours became
a type of worship,

and at night,
the blood moon raged noiselessly
against the encroaching sun
that demanded a new dawn.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015