Last days,
final words
written down and ready to say.
Apocalyptic art is being drawn up today,
laid out all over the table.
The city burning,
like an ancient biblical fable.
Last days,
darkness is coming our way.
Screams coming from the ashes
as if the stones themselves are crying,
begging for forgiveness.
Written words,
a set of keys.
Nuclear conflict
boiling seas,
a list of targets
nobody warned us.
Ruptures and fissures.
Sculptures based upon scriptures.
Angels and demons
mock us with heavenly descriptors.
Paintings and buildings,
chapels and cathedrals,
elaborate artistic ceilings
and us flocking, a herd of sheep,
congregate at their feet,
to listen to the bleating.
Last days.
Final hours with nothing left to say.
Apocalyptic heart
beats its final shuddered array,
sounds a rumbled moan,
and then a steady piercing flatline tone.
Apocalyptic art is being painted
as the walls crumble
the city all around is tainted
and into dust does tumble.
Apocalyptic art
has been torn up today.
Thrown away.
Armageddon is here.
We are in the middle of judgement day
but we are too busy focusing on our navels
no-one will be left to see it anyway.
Thanks for reading
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