The Muck

What is left of a world,
Once all potential is wasted?
When no deified spirits are listening,
And even the ivory towers are vacant,
Just the muck,
The detritus,
The residue of hope,
No longer viable,
I see piles of it everywhere,
I swear even in the mirrors eye,
Wasted potential,
Grey and cracked in the sun,
Walking here and about,
Coughing and spluttering,
Debating and multiplying,

This mess,
This population,
It pretends to be concrete,
It feigns purpose,
When it is meant for naught but the drain.

Obliteration

There shall be a day,
When the sun perishes,
Even gods can die after all,
Apollo and Ra and Amaterasu,
All things come to an end,

Earth shall be awash,
With cleansing fire,
A supernova song,
A death rattle of a star,
A galactic graveyard chime,

Everything and everyone you know,
Shall be burned away,
Ash is the only future,
Hiroshima shadows,
No escape,

There is no malice in this apocalypse,
It’s just a funeral pyre,
An indifferent obliteration,
A simple natural metamorphosis,
Of light to dark.

Celebrant

Join me,
Celebrate the end,
Lets party and rave and cavort,
Dance and laugh and cry,
To the setting sun,
For the final time,

What greater party,
Than the apocalypse,
The belated end to all evil,

What better firepit,
Than society finally igniting,
Ultimately baptised in its judgement,

What fonder toast,
Than this grim marriage,
Between all of us in our decimation,

What grander fireworks,
Than the meteors which descend,
Disco balls of pyroclastic ecstasy,

Take this Piña colada,
And a party hat,
Under this ruby sky,
Baby,
Take my scarred hand,
It’s the end of the world.

Doom Ballad

Do you hear the drums?
As the stars fall,
Tracing streaks into the blue,
Pounding down with hate and conviction,
The skies and earth ignite in concert,

A symphony of our end,
Percussive beats of destruction,
Brassy cracks of red lightning,
The choirs of agonised wailing join in,
The woodwinds of lives ending,

I know not what crime the globe is convicted,
But I see the sentence,
An astral genocide,
It approaches,
Wreathed in fire and stardust,

Pluto smirks.

Clowns At The End

The clowns are here,
Playing in the nuclear winter,
Cracking jokes to corpses,
Juggling in acid rain,

Rotting balloon animal.

Waltzing in a firestorm,
Bowing to inaudible applause,
Giggling as the meteors descend,

Cannibal candyfloss.

We are the clowns at the end,
The only ones left.

The End Of The World

Where will you be at the end of the world?
When the sky is aflame,
When the very ground shatters,
When society is a distant memory,
When all the states of the world crumble,
When lives end aplenty.

Will you be with your families,
Comforting one another in your last moments?
Will you be be with companions,
Celebrating and dancing among the flame?
Will you be in the streets,
Flailing feebly at the falling sky?

Will you be praying,
Begging non-existent entities to save your wretched soul?
Will you be raiding,
Clinging on to notions of greed even as mankind expires?
Will you be fighting,
Attempting hopelessly to save your fellow doomed souls?

Me?
Where will i be?
I’ll be at the epicenter,
Arms outstretched,
As if doting on the devastation,
A great big grin on my face,
Watching as the world burns finally.
Waiting hysterically for the screams to stop.
All vestiges of understanding and sanity burning up.

Where will you be?
Beside me?