“The End of Days”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-24)

 

 

The end of days is nigh

The end of days, a darkening in the sky

A closing kiss before the final breath

A joining with eternity, and death

I take flight

On wings that flutter forth from caverns of time

Borne on winds that blow through the subconscious mind

I can’t remember much about the journey that brought me here

But I step from the ledge, with no fear

 

The end of days is at hand

The end of days, a final rush of hourglass sand

The empty vessel testifies to what arrives

It is appointed for every soul, once to die

I fall down

Like a dry acorn from a tree, long cursed with rot

I roll until by fate, I reach the destined spot

Laid in the darkness like a lost medallion

A split hoof throbbing on this aging stallion

 

The end of days draws near

The end of days, a whisper in the ear

A poet’s pause before an obituary reflection

A brief moment to ponder what has been done

I step aside

Humbly hobbled and no longer a passenger on this train

Gazing out the window at bursts of sleet and rain

How odd to think that the conclusion of a wanderer’s rant

Is a tight-lipped, humming of a cemetery chant

 

The end of days I see

The end of days, the reaper with his dreaded cutlery

Black robe rustling in the frosty air

Empty eye-sockets peer and glare

I know not

Where the final weight of consequence will rest at last

Where future days will succumb to the past

The rule is one long since handed down through generations

I kneel and inherit the awesome power of self-negation

 

The end of days is in effect

The end of days, a cycle most proper and correct

A metronome that sounds to preserve the pace

A shadow that falls rudely across my face

I turn away

Not with defiance, but instead as a gesture of hope

I wish to be spared from this drooping length of rope

Numb to the cadence ticked out by celestial clocks

Red-faced and vanquished before the crowing cock

 

The end of days I appeal

The end of days, a revolution of the spinning wheel

Too quickly this carriage has ceased to run

Sunset declares that my mortal day is done

I go blind

Trembling and twisting within the eye of a storm

Cursing the memorable moment when I was born

A stone rejected by the builders as unfit

An extra wrench carried in the toolkit

 

The end of days is cold

The end of days, a calling up of the roll

Like Armageddon, it is already carved in stone

A truth that prophets proclaimed from God’s home

I recognize

The temple’s structure, even through a haze of naught

Dangling on a fish hook, cast with purpose, and caught 

If I did not believe, perhaps the result would change

Yet I have already been singled out by name

 

The end of days is nigh

The end of days, a darkening in the sky

A glow of moonlight that gives contrast to the black

A bumpy roll off of rusted railroad tracks

I am at peace

Praying to the cosmic force that caused this change to come

With all creation composing the vastness of an angelic sum

A harmony from the heavens gifted as a consolation prize

For those of us who have slipped into the outside