IN THE END
- 4 hours ago
- 1 min read
By Harry Humber
I can’t quite name the shape of coming dread,
watching those missiles stitching through the sky overhead.
They moved with a calm that felt almost rehearsed,
as if someone, somewhere, had scheduled the worst.
A woman said softly, I hope I was kind.
A man wept, I tried—just not all of the time.
Someone knelt down, not pleading—just still,
as if taking a moment to choose what to feel.
One voice behind me said, Life went too fast.
Another just whispered, I thought it would last.
No panic, no chaos—just people stood there,
like a queue with no reason, yet all of us aware.
I searched for a sentence that sounded complete—
something profound, something final, and neat.
But all I could mutter, as everything fell—
was: I was finally getting my life together as well.