Small Flight

I alone see the flight
The big ones, then smaller ones
See, even the ghosts are afraid.
They see the ships approaching the horizon
The others see nothing.
So I must be crazy, yes?
Ignorant of the coming slaughter,
My companions see no ships,
They have not yet the power to grasp them.
I feel the great pall of impending doom settling upon us.

Invisible demons dance exuberantly around the light posts.
Preparing,
Waiting,
Waiting.
Waiting for the call,
Waiting for the attack,
Waiting for their inevitable victory over our reason.

Yet defiantly we stand.
The great race.
The reasonable race.
A race so foolish we have called upon the grim reaper himself to attend our last stand.
In the dying moments of our civilization,
Again we see the tools once used to set in motion our final descent.