Ominous clouds of utter blackness, Billowing in their ranks, March across the low horizon Like artillery, soldiers, tanks. They move in angry opposition With malice thru and thru Against the sky’s content condition Of golden, gilded blue. And those who watch the signals See signs from up on high, Painted in prophetic vision Across a divided sky.
In this earth’s existence, it’s 11:59, Yet the world races onward, like everything is fine. And people seem to say “Eat, drink, and let’s be merry!” Even the “faithful” dally with, “We see the bridegroom tarry.”
Author’s Note: To be clear, I do not think that the current difficulties we are facing signify the end of the world! However, the disruption to normal life caused me to remember these thoughts I jotted down a couple of years ago. Though at first this poem may seem disheartening, at a time when many things seem out of our control, what is in our control is who we become. And that is encouraging indeed.
How will it be when it ends, When it ends . . . How will it be when it ends— When Hell is unleashed and with murder contends; How will it be when it ends?
I long for a place free of anger— Where hate does not exist. I wish for the day when death is done And loved ones are never missed. I pray for sharing unity Where gone is haughty waste; I hope for clear direction To heal our reckless haste. And with things turned so ugly, With all hope lost it seems, Sometimes I catch a glimpse of somewhere When I close my eyes to dreams.