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Apocalyptic Poems II

These are prophetic poems and apocalyptic poems ... Beast 666 by Michael R. Burch “... what rough beast ... slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?”?W. B. Yeats Brutality is a cross wooden, blood-stained, gas hissing, sibilant, lungs gilled, deveined, red flecks on a streaked glass pane, jeers jubilant, mocking. Brutality is shocking? tiny orifices torn by cruel adult lust, the fetus unborn tossed in a dust- bin. The scarred skull shorn, nails bloodied, tortured, an old wound sutured over, never healed. Brutality, all its faces revealed, is legion: Death March, Trail of Tears, Inquisition . . . always the same. The Beast of the godless and of man’s “religion” slouching toward Jerusalem: horned, crowned, gibbering, drooling, insane. Shock and Awe by Michael R. Burch With megatons of “wonder,” we make our godhead clear: Death. Destruction. Fear. The world’s heart ripped asunder, its dying pulse we hear: Death. Destruction. Fear. Strange Trinity! We ponder this God we hold so dear: Death. Destruction. Fear. The vulture and the condor proclaim: The feast is near!? Death. Destruction. Fear. Soon He will plow us under; the Anti-Christ is here: Death. Destruction. Fear. We love to hear Him thunder! With Shock and Awe, appear!? Death. Destruction. Fear. For God can never blunder; we know He holds US dear: Death. Destruction. Fear. First They Came for the Muslims by Michael R. Burch after Martin Niemöller First they came for the Muslims and I did not speak out because I was not a Muslim. Then they came for the homosexuals and I did not speak out because I was not a homosexual. Then they came for the feminists and I did not speak out because I was not a feminist. Now when will they come for me because I was too busy and too apathetic to defend my sisters and brothers? Published in Amnesty International’s Words That Burn anthology, Borderless Journal (India), The Hindu (India), Matters India, New Age Bangladesh, Convivium Journal, PressReader (India) and Kracktivist (India) This poem returns an astounding 819,000 Google results for the eleventh line. That’s a lot of cutting and pasting! It is indeed an honor to have one of my poems published by such an outstanding organization as Amnesty International?one of the world's finest. Not only is the cause good?a stated goal is to teach students about human rights through poetry?but so far the poetry published seems quite good to me. What Immense Silence by Michael R. Burch What immense silence comforts those who kneel here beneath these vaulted ceilings cavernous and vast? What luminescence stained by patchwork panels of bright glass illuminates drained faces as the crouching gargoyles leer? What brings them here? pale, tearful congregations, knowing all Hope is past, faithfully, year upon year? Or could they be right? Perhaps Love is, implausibly, near and I alone have not seen It . . . But, if so, still, I must ask: why is it God that they fear? Published in The Bible of Hell Where We Dwell by Michael R. Burch Night within me. Never morning. Stars uncounted. Shadows forming. Wind arising where we dwell reaches Heaven, reeks of Hell. Published in The Bible of Hell the Horror by Michael R. Burch the Horror lurks inside our closets the Horror hides beneath our beds the Horror hisses ancient curses the Horror whispers in our heads the Horror tells us Death is coming the Horror tells us there’s no hope the Horror tells us “life” is futile the Horror beckons, “there’s the Rope!” Deliver Us ... by Michael R. Burch The night is dark and scary? under your bed, or upon it. That blazing light might be a star ... or maybe the Final Comet. But two things are sure: your mother’s love and your puppy’s kisses, doggonit! Belfry by Michael R. Burch There are things we surrender to the attic gloom: they haunt us at night with shrill, querulous voices. There are choices we made yet did not pursue, behind windows we shuttered then failed to remember. There are canisters sealed that we cannot reopen, and others long broken that nothing can heal. There are things we conceal that our anger dismembered, gray leathery faces the rafters reveal. Liar by Michael R. Burch Chiller than a winter day, quieter than the murmur of the sea in her dreams, eyes softer than the diaphanous spray of mist-shrouded streams, you fill my dying thoughts. In moments drugged with sleep I have heard your earnest voice leaving me no choice save heed your hushed demands and meet you in the sands of an ageless arctic world. There I kiss your lifeless lips as we quiver in the shoals of a sea that, endless, rolls to meet the shattered shore. Wild waves weep, "Nevermore," as you bend to stroke my hair. That land is harsh and drear, and that sea is bleak and wild; only your lips are mild as you kiss my weary eyes, whispering lovely lies of what awaits us there in a land so stark and bare, beyond all hope . . . and care. This is one of my early poems, written as a high school sophomore or junior. Polish by Michael R. Burch Your fingers end in talons? the ones you trim to hide the predator inside. Ten thousand creatures sacrificed; but really, what’s the loss? Apply a splash of gloss. You picked the perfect color to mirror nature’s law: red, like tooth and claw. Is there any Light left? by Michael R. Burch Is there any light left? Must we die bereft of love and a reason for being? Blind and unseeing, rejecting and fleeing our humanity, goat-hooved and cleft? Is there any light left? Must we die bereft of love and a reason for living? Blind, unforgiving, unworthy of heaven or this planet red, reeking and reft? Keywords/Tags: Apocalypse, Apocalyptic Poems, Prophecy, Prophetic Poems, Proclamation, Future, Futuristic, Broken Future, Vision, Visionary, Omen, Omens, Sign, Signs, Earth, Earth Day, Mother Earth, Climate Change, Global Warming, Environment, Extinction, World, Weather

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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