The Apocalypse Cometh

By Christos Floratos

Some say the world

Will let out its last whimper

In a swirl of blaze and frost.

 

But I know better than some.

For I was young when I saw it come.

The lightning struck and struck,

And then some.

A week where it spiked

A month of humidity’s fight.

A year of reason’s most gallows.

                             A love child of melted ice and Australia’s burn

Against those olden-minds’ saying, most hollow:

“But it’s too chilli!”, would encourage a churn

 

Don’t you understand the cold?

The wrath of the blizzard is

just the warmth of hell

seeping through the oil-cracks in the earth

and condensing in the smog above.

 

The warning signs shocked you but

The tremors will rock you to

Your feet, your soles, your souls.

Waves of polyester swamp our beaches

And deep- beyond blue Mariana -are

remanets of Mickey, Cola and your groceries.

 

 

The old will give one more hazardous cough

and our world will be untold.

 

For

We’ve had our last summer

And Autumn’s killed its last tree.

Winter will be the mistress after the affair

And Spring will surely forget us.

 

After we are gone,

The worms will not remember their banquet on us

              For even they will die soon after their feast and celebration.

Ash shall not be gentle reminders on the mantle

              For we shall break down to our bare atoms.

 

For those preachers of old,

The Apocalypse Cometh

-not one of undead, technology or

some forsworn rapture –

But a carrion, inhibited by us.

A fever on the earth, calmed, cared and chilled by oil flames.


 ©  Christos Floratos 2019

Sneak Peek: The Apocalypse Cometh

The Penultimate Poem of the ‘Autumn, That Bastard’ Poetry Collection. What do you imagine when you think of the end of the world? This poem is a rejection of some traditional concepts of the Apocalypse.

Full Poem is Out This Friday!