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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Tag Archives: Apocalypse

Prodigal

23 Sunday Jun 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Apocalypse, comet, death, love, Poem, Poetry, Religion, sex

A stumbling block, all her own,
tumbling towards rock bottom,
yet home, in way of head o’er heels,
the only place for two left feet, named evil and sinister,
to dance the night away,
her time in the spotlight,
perhaps even another prodigal path,
ultimately to bid that final farewell
and rest among stardom.
Her ashes to be expelled by tears
and thunders of a father raped about
in that same vicious circle of life,
destruction and chaos.

There was an eternal feast.
She had fetched her pail of ice water
as ointment to wash her feet
and to rinse the sweat from her brow into wine
in this ritual of holiness.

The draw was irresistible
with forces greater than good
  stronger than evil,
  more timeless than love
with her depths warming from frigid void
to fires of fulfillment.

Those last miles bear stretch marks to forever,
like a pot never boiling with a stare.
Still, like a Zen master she danced
through his rock garden and past
the flicker-red of lamppost

onto the porch, by the door
with its dew-moist blue mat,
bidding “Welcome” to night travelers,
though off limits to wayward sisters.

“Perhaps this once,” she thought.
She shifted her weight
to stumble that last time.

Father mourned
glorious rage.
All of men beheld her beauty
with awe.

The quickening tremors of the land
were fired from her mistake;
the failing hearts of men to break
in falling reprimand.

(written for DversePoets, with Kelvin prompting us to use idioms)

(note: clues to the meaning are in the tags, if one was inclined to look)

Andropocalypse

23 Thursday May 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Apocalypse, disaster, disease, flag, genocide, ghosts, maypole, Patriotism, playground, Poem, Poetry, War, weapons of mass destruction

image

The hound winds down the road with tongue askance,
his passing no relief to children’s dance.
Their feints remain of laughter,cries out loud
and kicks of dust below a desert shroud.
Encrusted mill of friends and foes around
shifts back and forth with ghosted creeping sound-
an earth near stopped to see insanities
off to prowl pretended causalities.
The flag-stripped orbit of a pole unspun
with rings of ash, a rose-shift-world undone.

Regret

02 Tuesday Apr 2013

Posted by myrthryn in Poetry

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

Apocalypse, creation, evil, God, Good, Poem, Poetry, Religion, sentience, suffering

Accidental energies spring
from naught to now here,
flashing vibrations orbiting
the point of zero.

Pulsating expansions slow light
to the things that matter,
self-organizing into new creations.

This separation of energy
from matter allowed
those first thoughts,
then,
awareness.

And it saw that it was good.

longings for others brought forth
new experiments to life, here, there,
from the darkness.

Creation of multitudes of selves,
Wondrous, Marvelous,
yet, magnificently flawed,
unable to reach out,
communicate with themselves
or with the One that created,
unable to surmount
even self-imposed miseries.

Loneliness, Infinite,
feelings of failure
and guilt for tortured intelligence.

That Day, when the One
weighed itself against suffering,
and found itself wanting,

That Day,
the heavens shook,
the planets rumbled,
and the One began the universal
swallowing of itself,
back to the nothing
from which it came,

the oblivion.

(Note: This is in response to Sabio’s comment  here, and is submitted for open link night at DversePoets)

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