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    dots Submission Name: Almost Apocalypse!!!dots

    Author: rsujith
    Elite Ratio:    3.22 - 67/25/9
    Words: 373
    Class/Type: Poetry/Legend
    Total Views: 794
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2489

       maybe there never will be an apocalypse.
    and maybe because of something like this...

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsAlmost Apocalypse!!!dots

    Look down upon yourself,
    What I had made of you,
    Look what you made of yourself!!
    A monstrous, self-besotted, ‘urban’ forest
    with overpopulated cankerous rots
    filled with ignorant, empty hearts.

    Here I stand,
    In the chaffed edge of a cloud’s shadow
    And look down in shame
    Upon what was become of you,
    What was once mine!

    No! I know the trick.
    It needs to be done.
    The dose of fear
    That jolts you back to life.

    Come, O mighty cloud!
    Gather around here,
    close, dark and heavy,
    blot out the bright sun.
    Turn day into night,
    bring upon them the veil of darkness,
    a veil of fear on insolent hearts!

    Hey, O powerful thunder,
    strike without mercy.
    Illuminate to my eyes
    what beauty is left in this lowland.
    Show me what remains mine
    And slaughter what is not.

    And, O swift wind,
    Whip up a storm.
    Blow the filth out of here,
    make this place clean.
    Crack their mock fortresses,
    bare their indignant hearts
    to the truth of this world.

    O vast sky, hear!
    Pour out your sorrows,
    weep your heart out.
    Rain heavy upon this heath,
    wash off the putrid
    and give back the purity I made.

    I pity you, O mother earth,
    To see what has become of you.
    It is time to awake,
    open your wide mouth,
    satiate your hunger
    and sink those overgrown weeds.

    And then you indignant beings
    shall wake up again,
    turn your eyes outward
    and respect your creator.

    Stop! All of you!!!
    Hark! Breaking through this din,
    is the wail of a child.
    No, you can’t torture it,
    It is purity itself, stay away!
    And sniff the aroma of the flowers
    he has grown with his sweat.
    Keep away from there too!

    Oh no! What am I doing?
    Enough! Now stay back.
    What lies here is putrid,
    but it is the filth around life
    that makes it a marvel.
    Those empty hearts are not ignorant,
    Naivety it is, ‘cause I made it so.
    They are my sons after all...

    These tears of love
    draining down my cheeks
    will not clean the filth,
    but they are all I have.
    And I, all they do...

    Submitted on 2010-06-26 11:33:08     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    Rate This Submission

    1: >_<
    2: I dunno...
    3: meh!
    4: Pretty cool
    5: Wow!

    ||| Comments |||
      Very good! I picture an angry but also hurt and remorseful God peering down on his greatest creation with the mood of a parent absorbing the antics of a frustating teenager. When he considers vengance, he also remembers that he created mankind in his own image, but imperfect, and thus capable of grevious childlike mistakes.

    Very profound and thoughtful work!
    | Posted on 2010-08-11 00:00:00 | by Ron Cole | [ Reply to This ]

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