Tales from the Apocalypse
A Storm Destroys a Factory
Lightening lacerates the sky, tearing it asunder,
casting sorry shadows on the bedroom wall
while nightmare drums beat out Armageddon’s thunder.
An explosion lights the night, shattering pleasant dreams,
wailing sirens answering the call of dying screams.
Haunting vague memories,
a brief glimpse of things to come
Before everything is said and done.
In the morning, dark ashen clouds block out the sun
While an acrid atmosphere, strips the lining of the lung.
In the dry rain that follows, slate-grey snowflakes fall,
covering the car, washed – for fuck-all –
just the other day. But what’s it matter now?
It’s the shape of things to come
When all said and done.
Thou shall be done!
© P. Williams 2001