Poem 8

The snow falls apoun the ground
Leaving a sheet of white
Warping the earth in a cold blanket
Or
the sky could be lit orange and red
As it burns like the sun and as warm
As lava that fills the surface
Or
It could seem normal from afar building still stand
Yet bones walk and the only sound is wind
Blowing thur the places that once held such noise
Or
It can remind still nothing wrong
People talking and moving along
Tho I know that is a lie
One of the 3 or more will happen
It only a matter of time
Before the fuse is it
And we become exintixt.