Here at the end of the world,
Fireflies light our way
Across the dark expanse.

The sun is hidden
Behind perpetual cover.
The clouds race, run, and change shape,
But the sky is never revealed.
Little light filters down to us;
What does come is dirty.
Gloomy.


Here at the end of the world,
When night falls,
The darkness is nearly absolute.

We can no longer see the stars.
The moon is but a pale glimmer,
Offering little relief
From the constant darkness.
Like our hope,
It wanes day by day.
Soon it will be gone.


Here at the end of the world,
Mother Earth is sick,
And we worry she may not recover.

Her skin is feverish,
Scorched by fires of hatred above,
Burned by fires of anger below.
Some vegetation survives,
And hardened animals roam the land.
But the clean water is nearly gone.
Life cannot be sustained for much longer.


Here at the end of the world,
Our minds strain against crushing dispair,
And we struggle to maintain our hope.

We wander, searching for others.
We hope we are not the only ones left.
We trek across the unending lands.
We stop and huddle together when we are tired,
For heat and for protection.
The earth is warm,
But the air is still cold.


Here at the end of the world,
Fireflies light our way
Across the dark expanse.

They are the light that sustains us
In the suffocating dark.
They are a glimmer of hope,
Never waning.
Their presence gives us the will to survive,
To preserve that which is beautiful: life. 
It is all we have left.