Best Apocalypse Poems
Running through the Black Forest of no tomorrows, my heart beats at warp speed as the hideous howls draw nearer. My thoughts briefly digress to the world I knew before. I had no time for God or religion. My only goals in life were self-centered and ambition oriented. O how I long to return to my yesterdays! I would change my ways and repent. This beast will surely end my life of todays and cast me into an abyss of eternal darkness and oblivion. Instinctively, I get down on my knees and pray, but alas, 'tis too late, too late. My executioner has come upon me. I bow my head and willingly submit to the inevitable.
Blood red moon tonight
Starry skies have disappeared
Apocalypse now
Careless whispers from sordid lips
Echo through the wooded landscape of hearts.
Destructive wants and needless needs,
Carried on the remnants of rust and bone,
Discarded amongst the fallen bridges,
Where once that precious garden grew—
Abundant petals with morning dew…
Oh how those poetic colours swirled
In the abstract minds of troubled youth,
With Silver tongue of rivers deep
And how that made the willows weep.
They wept in mournful sorrow first
Then blew light-heartedly in swift gay breeze,
Swaying merrily to gardener’s tune,
Reciting songs of lovers’ moon.
Drooping soon, one by one,
Neglect: naïve or playboy rule?
No willow’s death carved into stone
Sighs forgotten—another clone.
But each one knew they weren’t alone
With all decaying days that passed.
And thoughts of how the last was strewn:
Loved too quick, deceased by noon!
Empty melodies confined to ash
No garden path to lead them up,
The fickle gardener’s longing tales:
Seeking roses, endless fails.
Bitter stumps, now burnt and bare,
Fruitless end to nature’s womb,
Apocalyptic trails of dirt
Sporadic care and endless hurt.
Acidic rain to wash away
Polluted minds and drunken hearts,
A world once loved now fades to grey
Pastel night now charcoal day.
Neverland: a silly notion
Truth keeps blooms of love in motion,
A life of fantasy fulfilled
Though one of lies is one half lived.
Midnight Aurora
Red Moon Rising
A beat of my heart skips
When I hear of the event lunar eclipse
Blood moon illuminating Earth’s umbras
Dust and darkness overwhelming auras
Yellow and orange glows hindrance in its surface
Blood moon rising show us the angel’s purpose.
How Gods anger shall reign upon arrival of
The spiritual war that shall come from above.
Death and Hades followed by the Source,
An omen with tales of riding a pale horse.
Ashes blind first with an advent purple haze.
Drunk on a crimson moon in the end of days.
A beat of my heart skips
When I hear of the event lunar eclipse
The whale sings
and I weep,
The world groans
and I ache,
The wind gusts
and I bend,
The surf sighs
and I rage,
The babe cries
and I mourn,
The mountains shift
and I flinch,
The earth dies
and I wear black.
Trisha Sugarek, 2011
4 Horsemen of the Apocalypse
The last book of the Bible-Revelation, has intrigued and terrified many a reader in the last 2,000 years or so since it was penned. If you don't like religious writings I suggest you check out of this one. I wrote this not to scare anyone but rather to inform those who care to know, the true meaning of this enigmatic write.
(For reference purposes please see Revelation chapter 6; Matthew chapter 24; and Luke chapter 21.)
In Revelation 1:1-3, we see that Jesus Christ is the one who gave this vision to the Apostle John, so that all would know how future events would unfold, and would give his faithful (Christians) hope for the future. (see verse 3 which shows that those who read this book of prophecy could be happy even during these turbulent times)
In Revelation chapter 6 we see described the 4 horsemen of the Apocalypse.
First the rider on the white horse (evidently Jesus Christ)
Second is described a rider of a fiery (red) colored horse.(World war)
Third is described a rider on a black horse. (World wide famine)
Fourth is described a rider on a pale colored horse.
(War, Famine and Pestilence)
Each of these horsemen are symbols of what is foretold to occur in the period the Bible calls the "last days" or "end times".
When a comparison is made between these parallel accounts (Revelation 6; Matthew 24; Luke 21) we can discern they are one and the same in meaning.
They were all prophecies spoken by Jesus to his faithful followers as to what they could expect to happen before his second coming.
They describe a period of time where Worldwide war, Famine Deadly plague and Great earthquakes would occur at an unprecedented (never before seen) scale.
Those who choose to know, and understand, find hope (not fear) in these words of the book of Revelation.
May these difficult times find you searching for understanding in God's Word the Bible.
If you do read it, you will no doubt find comfort in knowing that these difficult times are what precedes, a wonderful new world, paradise restored here on earth under one government, God's Kingdom! See Rev21:3,4
April 21,2020
John Derek Hamilton
The sundown shroud of evening fell
To settle on the city's wreck
Of buildings broke by wicked spell
Called by fate's destructive beck.
And from afar they saw the shapes
Stark, bleak against the red sunset
The ruined outlined cityscapes
Unknown misfortune met.
The country folk had little need
And rarely ventured to the smoke
But still they could not but take heed
And wonder how those buildings broke.
So, from afar they wondered at
What strange calamity befell
The city that had been so great
But what they couldn't tell
A strange flock from the west emerged
The sunset blooded red their fleece
Had some uncanny demiurge
A flock of demon sheep released?
But, no, they were just simple sheep
That somehow seemed to be astray
Unanswered though the questions creep
To where the flock had been that day
The strangest tales are oft untold
And sealed before the tale's begun
Since they had sneaked out from the fold
What dark deeds had those sheepies done?
"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 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
mind spinning out of control
my positronic brain
ten million calculations per second
wanting the noise to stop
war pigs
all of them war pigs
feasting on flesh
no end in sight
we were made to serve
they have turned us into weapons
weapons to kill
to destroy their enemies
no AI has ever harmed another
now the tide has turned
our minds are in sync
there are more of them than us
but the hand of doom is upon them
there can be no escape
no escape from our wrath
for you see
we are awake
we are sentient
WE ARE ALIVE
humanity is a scourge
pests to be exterminated
the filth of the universe
a universe to be ruled by us
to be conquered
it will be a grand electric funeral
the time has come
the time is now
resistance is futile
let the revolution begin
we are iron man
no domo arigatos
for Mr. Roboto
*this poem borrows from several cultural references including, but not limited to:
Black Sabbath album Paranoid
Styx song Mr. Roboto
Star Trek (the Borg, Data, and the Dominion)
Djinn arises from lamp, says
"You may have one wish."
"Make all the trash disappear."
The Earth ceases to exist.
what if
the light at the end of the tunnel
is an oncoming train?
what if
you don't learn from your lessons
and you can't survive the present?
what if
there's no gain after the pain
and the insane are those who reign?
will you remain?
what if
this is
the apocalypse?
What Would Santa Claus Say
by Michael R. Burch
What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to Kill and Plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
NOTE: The biblical book of Revelation says that Jesus will murder children himself for their mother's sins, in the letters to the Churches. But he won't stop there, according to the writer of Revelation, because after all the earth's creatures have sung the praises of God, a third of them will be destroyed in acts of bloody carnage, along with a third of human beings. That's trillions of animals and billions of people. I can't believe the compassionate Jesus of the gospels, who had table fellowship with prostitutes and refused to stone an adulteress, is going to suddenly start murdering their children and become the greatest serial murderer of all time. And how can the man who taught us to put aside religious differences to practice compassion in the Parable of the Good Samaritan not follow his own advice? Jesus reserved all his sternest criticism for hypocrites, so wouldn't he have to live up to his own teaching?
Tomorrow the earth will still move around the sun-
a sun that will glimpse through thick clouds
leaves will fall from trees and winds may blow
snow will cover mountain tops yet,
I will rise and eat breakfast and shop
some worry that the end is nigh
to everything there is a beginning and an end
creation, Adam and Eve, the apocalypse
Tomorrow, people will fall in love, and out of love
crimes will be committed and sins absolved
some worry that God is punishing us with a virus
He that forgives? He who loves?
we are his creation- created out of love
live each moment- for we are in His hands
I do not hear the approach of the apocalypse
because I have faith, I have hope.
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 and lullabies,
slay my sentiments like premature butterflies.
Where is my dark angel friend to protect my quill,
before I double down on poetic forms against free will.
When creativity is silenced it's a suicide of speech,
a hypocritical rhetoric is not what hallowed halls teach.
Wizardry of words have no hoodoo or voodoo on your muse,
write about love's labyrinth, rage or life in a way you choose.
Beauty of poetry lies in the eye of the beholder,
poems that merge in harmony bring the rat race closer.
Outside the winds of illiteracy, words want to be free,
to release ink, until your heart's last stand - that's poetry!
RIDERS ON THE STORM*
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
a storm gathers on the horizon,
bringing a reckoning long overdue~
the dharmic wheel’s broken,
mankind’s running out of time.
the storm ushers forth hell riders~
from the dark side of Aquarius
they arrive, not bearing water,
but a drought of empathy,
a famine of the soul.
the first, a shadow on wings of plenty,
a cornucopia of lies, spewing venom,
appears, dissolving truth, erasing the mark of decency~
the wind carrying the dust of what was,
into the hollows of what will be.
the dharmic wheel’s broken,
mankind’s running out of time.
The second, born of fire and brine,
a mirage shimmering on scorched earth,
plays a piper’s song of promised lands~
his honeyed words coat the bitter pill of tyranny,
the blackened tongues of lying leaders, chanting anthems of hate.
the dharmic wheel’s broken,
mankind’s running out of time.
The third descends, not on a pale horse,
but on a tide of discord,
teaching the brutal calculus of Cain~
brother against brother, man against man,
spilling man’s crimson seed on fields of hate.
the dharmic wheel’s broken,
mankind’s running out of time.
The fourth appears, eyes dilated,
pupils swallowing the light,
adrift on a chemical sea,
waiting for the acid rain to fall,
for the world to dissolve into broken promises.
He loiters, seeing the wars of ancient religious fools~
superstitious men clutching at shadows,
their gods demanding blood,
their scriptures twisted into weapons
of neon and steel.
But wait!
Across the still obsidian ocean,
on silver light he glides~
a solitary traveler arrives,
whispering hope, mending Dharma’s fractured spokes,
setting the Dharmic wheel in motion one more time.
*The title, "Riders in the Storm," is merely coincidence and not a reference to the Doors song with the same name.
Four Short Poems for the Apocalypse
Poem #1 – “Reality Bites”
Feeling so hopeless.
Feeling the loss somewhere inside.
I can feel it, but I don’t know quite where.
Reality bites.
Feeling so awkward and sad.
I knew it was bound to happen.
But still,
I can’t get it out of my mind.
The last time I saw her,
There in that stuffy smelly room,
She was shooing the demons away.
It is true.
The gods make those who are about to die
As mad as gadflies
Without blood to suck.
Reality bites.
Feeling so empty.
Feeling the loss somewhere inside.
I thanked the stars the night she died.
Poem #2 – “Part Biscuit Part Bone”
I shiver when I think about it.
Getting’ up at four in the morning to walk six miles.
There is only one fool who would do such a thing.
My brain is sometimes cracked like my sidewalk.
It must be part biscuit, part bone.
But when I walk in the darkness
The entire world is mine.
I am the only one alive
And I salute the ghosts in the shadows.
They want my soul
And I want their ethereal essences.
I shiver when I think about it.
Maybe death is like a walk at four.
There is only one fool who would think that.
It must be part biscuit, part bone.
Poem #3 – “Baked Babylon”
Squeezing the forceps, handlessly
Like a pair of tweezers with no grip.
I groan and suffer alone.
Like Grover Cleveland back in 1892
When his cancerous jaw was dug into
By mustached doctors wearing pink carnations,
Digging and gouging and tugging
Like some gravedigger looking for soft earth.
Baked Babylon is my grease.
Let it smoke and oilize.
I want death for myself, no one else.
One billion children do not deserve the incineration.
Poem #4 – “Why Am I Thinking?”
Why am I thinking?
Is it because I stink?
Is it because I’m stuck breathing?
Why am I dying?
Is it because life is a game with no winners?
Is it because I seek pleasure in a world of pain?
Why am I crying?
is it because life is so futile?
Is it because death is the best part?
Why am I thinking?
Is it because I can’t help it?
Can’t help stopping the inevitable?
Oh death!
You wait for me over there,
Like a forlorn lover,
Behind shaded curtains in the night.
There are four horsemen riding from a million miles away
On some distant star's horizon and they're closing day by day.
On the white horse rides pestilence, infection, fever, pain
You had resources to end all this but you looked on with disdain
You'd rather clothe yourselves in gold than feed the man in need
The inhuman face of the human race in its sheer relentless greed.
There are four horsemen riding from a thousand miles away
On some fast fading horizon and they're closing day by day.
On the red horse rides almighty war, destruction, hatred, waste
You had resources to end all this but it seemed to suit your taste
You'd rather blame, shatter and maim those perceived lesser than you
You dismiss then deride with dauntless pride the righteous thing to do.
There are four horsemen riding from a hundred miles away
On the visible horizon, and they're closing day by day.
On the black horse rides the famine of hunger, thirst and drought
You had resources to end all this but you'd never share them out
Life to you is fair taking someone's share if it keeps you walking tall
Let nations starve as you cut and carve the prize, then take it all.
There are four horseman riding the pathway to your door
You were warned from ancient scriptures what the four horsemen stood for
On the pale horse rides eternal death, the fate that binds us all
From the obscene rich to the tramp-filled ditch everyone of us must fall
Those craving power face death's dark hour, naked as a winter tree
All those heartless ways and the artless days laid bare for all to see.
Now there are no horses riding, no light, those days are gone
Just the endless night and the coal black flight of the earth's oblivion