The End Day's
And so we wait
knowing we must miss it.
Hoping it happens
the day after
we are no longer around.
Tomorrow arrives
and despite all its beauty
it looks like hell.
It figures though –
we were assured that
up until the End of Day’s
all would be certainly not be well.
Thus being righteously screwed;
even though we stayed up late
painting hallelujahs on the ceiling
and promised to be as good
as God could make us.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
