The Final Battlefield
Reduced to tear's
By floundering year's
And persecution
The wickers fell
On mannequin and collage painting's
Hanging from the tower gate's
So opaque
The background checked the artist's brush
That stroked upon the maddening thrush
Where common folk and gentry rushed
To place upon a bed of thieves
Which kings receive
A ransom grand
Gleaming gold
And stole by hand
From Jerusalem the holy rock
Whence pilgrims flock
For station on the end of day's
The final battlefield of men on earth
Shall witness the return of God
The apocalypse is nigh at hand
But who will gain the upper hand
Is no more certain
Than the closing curtain
On which the hook's
Some must hang
If that in which your faith was placed
Was sadly misplaced
Or misdirected
Copyright © Christopher Flaherty | Year Posted 2018
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