Apocalypse — The Harbinger of Harmony


A colossal cloud looms in the horizon,

It’s chaotic, smokey darkness promising a dawn of peaceful night.

The silver acid that rains down from it’s womb

sizzles as it gnaws on the walls of the forts and castles.

The howls of the guns and cannons echo louder than the thunder

as the chains of their hypnotic control finally break away.

The raindrops wash away the scarlet, stinking soil;

It’s time that the trees taste water instead of blood.


A ferocious inferno engulfs the globe,

It’s fiery arms chocking the barrels of the tanks.

The heat melts away the metallic skin of the nuclear demons,

Their bodies swallowed whole by the flames inside their hearts.

The tentacles of the burning pyre 

scavenges and feeds upon the guns and the gas masks.

The inferno reaches for the pages of history,

Incinerating the faces of Hitler and every other prophet that blinded the world with their hate.

And in the end, only two words are left behind as the fire extinguishes —

Never Again.


A procession of kings with golden crowns

Walk towards the gigantic pit;

In their hands they clasp a piece of their lands.

When the Sun rises and the clock strikes twelve,

The kings fill the pit with the soil in their fists.

And the golden rays from the sky stir the seeds

Which have lied dormant for centuries.

The Earth trembles as the seeds sprout,

The trees pushing through the depths of the land, seeking freedom.

When the forest finally emerges, there is laughter;

The children who earlier nibbled on the border walls,

Now feasted upon the apples and grapes.


The gates of the dungeon have been demolished,

The light of the moon invades the darkness,

Burning away the ancient monster with it’s golden, flaming sword.

Millions lie sprawled on the floor,

Their skins infested with spiders and maggots.

Their slumber breaks after a thousand years,

Their eyes burn with the morning flames.

They wear masks of vivid colors,

Their faces suffocating under the musty beings.

Scarlett threads sew the lips of the prisoners,

Even their tongues have now given up hope.

But as the night begins to die 

and the second day of freedom is stirred in it’s cradle,

The masks begin to crumble

and the Scarlet threads are cut.

The ungagged jaws now open wide and the throats begin to roar,

The mountains shudder and the skies crack as one word reverberates in all it’s glory —


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