As the vectors point
Daringly,
Racing,
Escape.
Imperative,
Venture away
but impossible so
The Tick and Tock
wasting away
until silence as crystallization occurs
and the wood folk
and the water folk
slumber peacefully
But the vectors in the sky
Show Doom.
We ants fear,
trying to flee,
but misguided,
we race toward the cliff.
Crimson fingers
fallen to the earth
Light shifting
