We Are the Skraeling

This is a riddle poem, can you guess what it's about?

Long fingers lick over the horizon

stealing into the silent gloom.

The Queen of Night's reign is over

overthrown by a brilliant intruder.

 

A precursor to the cold wind

and the harsh bite of our green apple-mornings.

We’ve watched the sky fade from purple to blue,

watched the horizon explode into richly colored gems.

 

The hands that grated against my windows,

so skeletal and dainty, now tree branches.

The gossamer veil, now a spider web.

All their lies are obvious now.

 

And yet we hide behind

screens and artificial bulbs

too busy, too ‘advanced’ to see.

Author's Note

Bits and oddments from old poems, new poems.
Any feedback would b amazing!