The Apocalypse

Another Apocalypse poem.

Let me paint a pretty picture.

One of fire and distress,

A world stripped back down to instinct.

In my opinion…at its best.

 

The skies alight with fire.

Like the beautiful roof of hell,

View its phosphorus glow.

And enjoy the show.

And await the chime of the last bell.

 

Fire will supersede water.

Like an oil spill alit.

The beauty, is once again ignored,

As the vain religions prey remit.

 

The streets turn into a blood bath.

As people steal, fight, and fend for themselves.

A world stripped back down to instinct,

A state of independency, induced by hell.

 

The devil stands on my shoulder.

We oversee the chaos, and share a beer,

Laughing at this entertainment.

As the unavoidable end, is feared.

 

I take pity on those, that try to save themselves.

From something they can’t evade.

Why try save yourself, or maintain your health

When death is seconds away.

 

You may read what I write, in disgust.

Because I look kindly on a masochistic hell,

But through my eyes, I see beauty disguised.

And am disgusted by the level of rationality that fell.

 

Ryan Smith – 30/01/11

The End

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