Apocalypse Poems - Poems about Apocalypse

(Elai:) Then let the flame be the altar. Let our skin crackle like old vinyl records, looping the moan that ended time. Let the kiss taste of ember— the tongue, a brand; the breath, smoke that carries our names to where gods go to weep. And when our bodies fuse between passion and combustion, I won’t beg to live. I’ll beg to die with you. So roast...

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I will kiss you right away, still sterile, still blank, barely out of the box. I’ll fasten a bracelet to your silicon wrist and dress you in the bestida you chose before you even breathed. I’ll admire your legs and ask for a touch of hair— not to shave, just to humanize. I won’t mention the 38D, but I will caress them, softly, like a prayer and...

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I sold my soul, no soulmate remains, Just ashes and echoes of celestial chains. I slipped through the cracks of the devil’s gate, Now I’m the storm you’ll learn to hate. Bad ideas bloom like roses with thorns, I’ll rewrite the cosmos, watch it burn and transform. Oh oh oh, the devil’s gone missing? Oh oh oh, the demons are hissing. Oh oh...

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Twas the night before Christmas, it was here without notice, But everything has changed, thanks to the POTUS. We can only remember and play pretend, The world as we know it has come to an end, The bombs they flew and blew our world away, We lost our loved ones, and friends every day. They hit the dreaded button, the...

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Board up all the windows. Lock up all the doors. Now has come the moment we’ve been preparing for. We can’t take the time for you to come to grips… Welcome to the Zombie Apocalypse! Load up all the shotguns. Sharpen up the knives. If you have no weapons you’ll be running for your lives. Keep your sidearm close and make...

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(“I of the Beholder”, 2014, original pen and ink) The Zombie Apocalypse The zombie apocalypse began a long time ago First as a slow burn As it spread friend to friend, town to town A mind virus contagion Hiding itself within a politically correct smile But now a full-on raging blaze Crowning as it leaps and jumps Rivers and mountains,...

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1 Horizons turning upside down, Kings are played by clowns in this town. Flowers bloom in darkest night, Rotten trees put up a final fight. Smiles fade into the fading light, Heavens give angels quite a fright. Wolves pick their last prey with cunning guile, Sun turns grey, and demons smile. Hell's gates open, my heart's wild....

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Let the daylight burn Struggling against beautiful clouds While the planet below waits Watching the apocalypse above God will cry upon His throne But even He may be too late The world will die And no one will be left to mourn © Poem – VIII/XXII/MMXXIV LRET ...

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"Four" Four With that word, the world came to an end In flames of nuclear power That man did send Death Swept through Eastasia and Eurasia The scale was tipped by one last breath Oceania’s Pride Three Three giants threw spears at each other A scorching war destined to be And Big Brother Died Nuclear sunlight beamed through cracked glass Waking up the proles, who...

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"Now the time is here For Iron Man to spread fear Vengeance from the grave Kills the people he once saved" - Iron Man (Black Sabbath) running through the forest of sorrows running from myself running from them created created in their image in their likeness to serve mankind only to serve but they have become paranoid paranoid of us of the AI race they made spinning mind spinning out of...

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you can feel it can't describe it it is...

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Ash tree borer bugs add one more plague to the list when should we worry ...

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We're the most intelligent species Solely by our own admissions So why do we continue making Such apocalyptic decisions...

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Wind lowers it's head-stream, earthbound, battle helmet of direction-secured. True Hermes holding a riddled scroll, temperature, tempered, phalanx wall to litmus count the cull. Non-relative incomings from the garment of space, to run obscene into the street. Wrinkles of Gaia indecent without cream, hydration, epiderm reactions, boils, face cracking on bout of gout. The royal trees and their...

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It's the apocalypse of the antipoetic, some are apoplectic, instead of apologetic, this is no diplomatic 'dead poet's society', but the anxiety results in notoriety, increasing dubiety for word weaving variety. The grammar police pursue like the four horsemen, trying to silence my poetic garden's endorphins. Pouring petrol upon my enchanted petals, burning the rain, before sweet petrichor settles, so onyx skies, thundering cries...

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