When the sky is no longer blue

If tomorrow our sky is no longer blue, 
then the sky has been lost to humanity. 
Like grass to the dealer or wood to fire. 
It inevitably leads to catastrophe. 
The sky has fallen, 
has come loose from the anchors of the sky frame. 
It now lies on the earth, 
like an antique mirror in Grandma's attic, 
too old to let go of the memory with it.
There now lie the streets full of splinters.
And as I ran down the street to my house, 
I saw my hand reflected in a shard of sky. 
I picked up the shard
and held it carefully between thumb and forefinger.  
I saw in it my hand, 
vintage 2000 in its bloom 2018, 
when its nails were glazed pink 
and it held the cheek of a boy. 
I stumbled forward in shock 
and let a small part of the sky fall. 
It fell for the second time that day.  
I bent towards the asphalt. 
In the now broken version of the shard 
I saw in the first splinter my pursed lips 
and in the second the open mouth of my former beloved, 
vintage 1998, in the bloom of 2018. 
The streets were filled with the eye of the sky, 
which had been lost to humanity. 
From now on there would be no guardian of memories anymore. 
The present would have no scribe anymore for the future. 
When the present crumbles to dust, 
there is no more pressure. 
Not from outside, not from inside. 
Nothing would implode 
and nothing would explode. 
Everything would be in a vacuum, 
one would have fun 
and it would be forgotten
one would not write the essay 
and it would be forgotten. 
No consequences 
means emptiness in the soul
it can be decadence 
or bare subsistence. 
That is what happens when the sky is no longer blue.