Armageddon for the seated man

By
I sit and brood eternity,
As if it truly mattered
To think of what will someday be,
In darkened room to set the mood.

Isaiah, speak not shadows
The veil is drawn to choking
They cling to deepening caverns
While thrashing winds devour the sky

They shall awake to clammy dawn
With face turned feebly to the east
No warmth envelopes those who wait
For light and dark made known

But what is left for the empty ones
When sadness would be welcomed,
Anger greeted heartily
As an old forgotten friend

With flaccid souls they dangle
From chattering, speechless jaws
They watch the sterile storm of time
March ever on around their minds.





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