A frozen moon stands waxen, <br />White shadows, <br />Dead face, <br />Above me and the dull <br />Earth. <br />Throws green light <br />Like a garment, <br />A wrinkled one, <br />On bluish land. <br />But from the edge <br />Of the city, <br />Like a soft hand without fingers, <br />Gently rises <br />And fearfully threatening like death <br />Dark, nameless... <br />Rising <br />Without sound, <br />An empty slow sea swells towards us-- <br />At first it was only like a weary <br />Moth, which crawled over the last houses. <br />Now it is a black bleeding hole. <br />It has already buried the city and half the sky. <br />Ah, had I flown-- <br />Now it is too late. <br />My head falls into <br />Desolate hands. <br />On the horizon an apparition like a shriek <br />Announces <br />Terror and imminent end.<br /><br />Alfred Lichtenstein<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bad-weather-6/
