Oblivion

Oblivion nigh, on high, on tides of red,
I cannot say where it began or where it fed,
Dead, rotted out like that of a hollow log.
Oblivion soon, impending doom, on wings of gray,
We cannot foresee what is to come this coming day,
Grinding mercilessly like a clock with brass cogs.
Oblivion near, all-consuming fear, on blood-shot eyes,
Everyone draws closer as it looms on the horizon,
It is the fate we all created, hated, yet we must accept it. We are what we despise...