In the distance a storm gathers,
Thunder booms and hailstones fall.
I watch alone in horror,
For no others seem to mind.
Cyclones rage and scar the land,
What hope have I to resist?
Behold! Sights of hellish scenes,
Visions of some fevered dream.
The world cries out timidly,
Like a whimpering child.
Yet she is unheard by all,
Save for I who hears her call.
Thus ends our brief history,
So descends the world at last.
Who might we blame but ourselves?
No storm of nature was this,
Man caused this calamity.
Fitting, we began our tale,
And so too shall we end it.
This is how the world shall pass:
Into an eternal night.
A dream from which we shan't wake
What hope have we to resist?
-
Author:
Jeff Floyd (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 31st, 2018 13:37
- Comment from author about the poem: I composed this poem over the course of a day while enjoying a Cohiba Cigar. As with all my poems it was written from the comfort of a patio chair in my backyard beneath the palm trees.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments1
Really nicely written
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.