End Of The World Poems | Examples
These End Of The World poems are examples of poetry about End Of The World. These are the best examples of World End Of The poems written by international poets.
Always remember to pack the essentials,
Bat, Bottle, Bag, Boots,
Cut down anyone who tries to get in the way,
Don't look them in the eye, it only makes it harder,
Enemy, everyone is the enemy, yes, even them,
Find what you can, anything, you'll need it later,
Get up, you don't have time to rest, not yet,
How have you survived this long?
Imagine a better world, running water, safety,
Jokes are the only thing keeping you going,
Kill or be killed, even when its all over,
Like an animal, lose yourself in the fray,
Most of them aren't even people anymore,
Notice how they don't look you in the eye,
Only you are left, Only you can rescue them,
Persevere, soon it'll all be back to normal.
Quick, you have to run, to escape,
Run, run, doesn't matter to where or why,
Stop and you are dead, run, run,
Today is the day, its all over, you can't escape-
Unless you remember the ABCs,
Very good, recall everything I've taught you,
When the end finally comes and its all over,
Xenial little thing you are, listening to me.
You will be safe from the onslaught,
Zealot of the new world order.
Snapshots of teenage melodrama:
not having the sense to stay out of the rain,
the latest hits broadcast over the cafeteria speakers,
a night out, with boisterous boys and giggling girls in cars,
first heartbreak. It seems like the end of the world - silly, isn't it?
The end of the world? Lights out? I'm on board.
Walking alone at night, taunted by shouting boys and giggling girls, "freak" -
stood up, by an empty cafeteria, "you're gonna wish, you wasn't born at all",
standing alone, under the driving rain, unable to find a reason to live or move –
pictures of Hell, found at fifteen.
The red curtains lift and the day begins
The sun steps up, introducing herself
Most of us don’t dare to look at her directly
a whispering wind enters
declaring that the world is ending today
In this abandoned theatre
The last place humans are
We sit enjoying the play
with a glorious farewell performance
from every single person we’ve ever met
We sit watching the plot unfolds
Our gaze fixed on the stage
our mistakes dramatized
Our invented characters reborn
Haunted by a so-called potential
Tall buildings kneel outside
Fires hiss, spit and growl
The end is certainly loud
But inside the sun is eternally shining
It’s the end of the world, babe
Since the second of May this year
Nothing can save us, maybe
A miracle, but it’s unclear
As it always happens with miracles
They get lost on the next day
Which appears to be satirical
But a few can see it this way
It’s the end of the world, now
It starts from this very date
Write a letter to me somehow
To read your thoughts would be great
You must see it better than me
I’m just sitting within four walls
Drinking music and jasmine tea
Having fun till the gate unfolds
An unbearable light will flush us
And the darkness will gulp the splinters
And so many more years will pass
When the summer will change to winter.
Two cats saw the end of the world.
Both felt its pain—
They hid in alleys,
Keeping the shadows at bay,
But the visions that haunted them,
Still remained.
Both found homes,
Comforting and fulfilling—
Yet both dealt with the end of the world—
So differently.
One saw it as a reminder of death.
All would shrivel,
Nothing would remain,
Everything would be replaced by pain.
The other,
Saw it as a reminder of life.
All the hunger and strife,
All the beauty and light,
Swirl together until neither one is right.
Two cats saw the end of the world—
One passed it by,
The other felt as if she had already died.
Shall I tell you about my life
Of the games that I used to play
I don’t want to consume your time
Will you listen or turn away?
To the shop and back in the hole
Backwards and forwards I go
At the end of the day I fall
Fast asleep like the day before
And the news that media publish
Always look so incredibly bad
Is that the world they establish
Or it does look for me so sad
The world doesn’t seem to take interest
Its indifferent to my story
But there’s nothing I would contest
I’m indifferent too, so sorry
We’re a harmony of coincidence
Like the wrong key I press appears right
And you stand there surrounded by silence
Like a shadow across the dim light
Everyone locked in their stories
Everything seems abstract
When it comes to a stage of no worries
There’s no story to tell, in fact.
Standing on the edge of the world
With one foot in the air
The Crashing waves beneath him
Crying tears of despair
Another death won’t matter
Who would really care
He broke his vow and prayed to god
But god was never there
He close his eyes to listen
To the drumming of his heart
It beats the story of a broken man
Who tore himself apart
The drink just made him bitter
The drugs just numbed the pain
All his friends don’t understand
The thoughts going through his brain
So he walked to the end of the world
With a though so clear and sober
He took a breath to clear his mind
And took one more step over.
Though the end of the world is nigh,
Here is not where we shall say goodbye.
True story, my uncle was a famous safe cracker
Before becoming a soldier in World War One
Known to police in New York City for robbery
The army wanted his skills against the Huns
Employed him to defuse bombs the Germans threw
In the trenches around the front lines
And also to defuse all the mines around them
Till the end of the war was showing signs
Killed in the war he received a medal of honour
Posthumously for his heroic bravery
In spite of his unsavoury and unruly past
Made amends for his past so unsavoury
When I came along I was named after him
Quite a hero I always looked up to
Before the war, a burglar known to police
After death got the recognition he was due
My official name is Charles Byard Ellison
“Oh people of this temporary world..
May you enjoy the abundance of its trivial offerings..
You have no clue of what I see and yearn for..
And, how could you, as the death is the end of the road..
But, for the lover, it’s the union with the beloved.. the end of waiting and suffering..
To light up the world one must first burn a little..
Burn in the love of the ONE till the temporary curtains fall..
To reveal the divine elevator to the beginning of peace and permanent grace..
And an eternal pleasure and a never fading Joy!
So, let the lover cry more and laugh only but little…
For his yearning is not for the Temporary…”
~UK
PS: Dedicated to the utmost faith and resistance of the brave people of Gaza and Palestine
#FreePalestine
In twilight's grasp, the world meets its demise,
Oh, Christian soul, who claims the sacred name,
Within God's church, where fervent spirits rise,
Contemplate now, the end, a burning flame.
What if it was the end, the final call,
Would jests and levity your stance define?
Regret, a haunting echo, would enthrall,
As time, a gift, was squandered, not divine.
The freedom granted in the fleeting hours,
Yet, dedicated not to Heaven's plea,
The call to be a savior in your bowers,
Neglected, as a futile, vain decree.
Oh, heed this warning, ears that bear the weight,
Prepare thy soul, for God's impending fate.
What if it was the end, a solemn plea,
To face the judgment of eternity
What will you say?
On a bridge of war, winds command leaves to brawl
Winds from two separate lands that rest on one earth
They make green leaves burn to a red cluster everywhere around
Walk to the end of the bridge, the only path it leads to is death
The winds can untie the ropes and drop the bridge,
But still command the leaves to fight at rock bottom
WORLD WAR THREE
Eleven, eleven, eleven eighteen.
The end of “the war to end them all.”
O1, 09 of thirty nine.
It hadn’t ended all wars at all.
Now eighty years have passed us by
And every day there has been another,
As someone, somewhere has found an excuse
To fight for one cause or another.
And, if there should be a world war three,
That will certainly end all wars.
Because there will be no-one left
To stand up and fight for any cause.
Where will it end?
When will it end?
Or will it only get worse?
It’s the twenty-first century curse.
Some say we’ve had it too easy
Become too complaisant
The thought makes me queasy
How did we not know?
Were we all so blind?
So thoroughly aligned
Our thoughts combined
In one voice
A voice increasingly weak
Victims of doublespeak
But is it too late?
Must we merely accept our fate?
Lord, give us a voice
For now we must make a choice
Will we be sheep?
Awake though asleep
Only time and action will tell
Can we still save ourselves
From this living hell?
First we must open our eyes
Close our ears to the lies
Only then, if we’re wise
Can we save our own lives
It's a place I know,
my feet familiar
with each timber plank
that deck the way,
the smooth ones
and the ones buckled
and raised ready
to trip an old man's foot.
I know the name
of every boat moored
along its length,
the repertoire of sounds
played by the tides
and restless swells,
its intimate whispers.
It could be any place
but for me
it's here in the solemn quiet
of a late evening
on the end of the pier,
when the world
returns to an order,
gathers in the strewn pieces
of itself like scattered toys
on a playroom floor
and puts them back
into a labeled drawer.
The time when hurry settles
and strung nerves
are loosened
and soothed by sleep.
For a moment
the world fits neatly here,
snug in this small pocket
of calm on the end
of Ferguson Pier.
In the distance, city lights
float on a dreaming bay
as the tide silently ticks
the evening and me
away.