Does anyone hear to the prayers that escape their lifeless lips,
from hearts that have stopped beating after the deathly apocalypse?

Or lend an ear to the muted screams of those kids shot down with guns,
or to the roar of all the houses blown up with bombs and cannons?

Or just listen to muffled cries or look at eyes clouded with tears,
or think of the motherless child and the terror his heart bears?

But all the noise is just unheard, and what do even they cry for?
because we believe that everything is fair; in love and in the war.

Just to spread the message: Terrorism is a big thing to be just ignored.  War is real, and it goes beyond the numerical values of the amount of people that have died or the buildings that have been shattered. The trauma and the terror of it resides in the heart of each innocent person who lost a home, lost a loved one or lost their own life just to a meaningless battle between two clans or countries. Their lives are changed forever, and they try to seek help and talk to us about it. It's time that we hear to them.
jdotingham May 10

"look, the clouds are coming with him" a shriek from a crowd -
mistaken fat boys for men,
the four horsemen turn around, deny everything;
      :one is a snaky man,
      :one has a golden tan,
      :one's land is overflowing,
      :&one's land is overthrowing/

(fire then transforms sand, wind then transforms man).

Breeze-Mist May 7

I wonder what the dinosaurs thought
When the asteroid fell and wrought
Destruction and chaos
For fate may befall us
In a century, we too could be caught

I just saw the second news article this week (first was Washington Post) saying that if humanity doesn't get the planet together or colonize another planet in 100 years, we're extinct.

Oh the horror and the consequence
for mankind disappeared
up came the ants, and roaches
all of our chips, cashiered

The battle for supremacy
stalemate went on for years
the ants building colonies
as roaches build, careers

In the end it was inevitable
ants just not able to compete
the roaches all were lawyers
laws, legislation, to secrete

"We need to build more cities!'
the ants did cry, bemoan
but the roaches held the leans and notes
and every inch of land and ant, they owned

Ya gotta wonder, maybe :D maybe not....
In the end, it's all about economic battles, even if your not human. ;D

i am nothing
personality functionality deficit
and i attract
people with certain similarities
people who have embraced solidarity
will you hide with me?
brought forward an onslaught of emotions
my love
you’re running bargaining
i end up alone
with false hopes
to an end of my own personal
as i write in this
brought on by
a year of internal struggling
and endless working
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
will I be alone?
will I die today?
a dose of the unrequited effort
my mind wanders
what if my world would go black
would that be my win?
ramble ramble ramble
this existential poem
would it be ironic to like it?
ramblings of death
the end and personal pain
if one truly hates the pain
and yet loves the idea
of the darkness
are you afraid to die?
alcohol i bid thee a fair burning welcome
how long will you stay
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or enough to see i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this rain slicked track
i am done
all alone
But I don't want to be

The apocalypse is coming,
I heard them scream,
It will only take a minute to wake from this dream,
Then I turned and I saw peaceful waters turn into a violent stream,
I looked up and I saw our light blue sky turn dark green,
I noticed the animals running away at their fastest speed,
I heard the wind say "this is what the earth needs."
Has a minute passed, when will I wakeup?
I want to get out before the land below me is shook up.
I looked up again at the sky,
I saw the earths reflection way up high.
Is that a mirror in the heavens,
So we can watch our own demise?
Time stood still, the wind ceased,
The wrinkles in my forehead creased,
The sun exploded, only moments away from impact, but the earth imploded and I was still in tact.

written on 6/18/15
Vincent JFA Mar 23

We noticed the damned
soon approaching the places
we took years to accept
as our home, to see how tough
our meat stuck to our bones
against their barrage of teeth,
rotten tongues, and pus-dripping nails.

and when you packed the last
of the matches and saw me hiding
all our stillborn dreams inside of
the basement's drop-ceiling tiles,
you told me, "Along the way,
we're going to be picking up
more, I haven't decided
when, but I am sure we'll find
some good ones when we're
digging through the pockets
of those dead pricks, or in
one of the jammed cars
sitting on the interstate,
or in an empty Jack Link's bag,
fuck if I know.

so I hope you're putting those away
to make room for more,
not because you think there
aren't any to have after this.
You don't have to pack so lightly,
I'm here to help carry the weight;
just remember that you're in charge
of grabbing a carton of Marlboros,
if the gas station didn't get
entirely fucking ransacked,
and remember to smile
every once in a few hours
so I know I'm helping you do all right."

The second poem in a series devoted to the tender moments seen in dreams of a post-apocalyptic world.

The Warning had finally gone out!
There was gonna' be a Nuclear Apocalypse at any moment!
The Sandbergs were a Christian Family
So, they felt that it would be appropriate to say a Prayer together
Before God took them all to Heaven.
No one knew where Ralph was?
Martha Sandburg asked her daughter, Sandra
To go find her brother, Ralph for the Apocalyptic Prayer
Before  their Ascent to Heaven.
She didn't think of knocking on Ralph's door,
But just opened it in the urgency of the moment.
Her first utterance was,
"Ew! Gross!"
Ralph was jacking off as if their was no tomorrow,
Which there probably wouldn't be,
And there were white cum stains all over the brand new, red carpet!
"How could you be jacking off at a time like This"
"When we're about to meet Jesus in Heaven?!"
Sandra asked her brother.
"I just wanted to experience It one last time!"
Ralph expressed in a manly husky voice even though he was only 15.
"Jesus ain't even gonna' LET you into Heaven after doin' that Ralph,"
Sandra told him.
"Now put on your pants"
"And come to the Apocalyptic Prayer Service we're having"
Ralph put on his pants,
But he ran out the door.
He didn't know where he was going,
But he just knew that there was no point
In praying before the Apocalypse
If he was already
On his way to Hell.

Vincent JFA Mar 23

and noticing that much
is enough to remind me that
all of this only amounts
to meteoric chances and happenstances,
so even the worst of it will come to its end—
and maybe that just has to do
with the optimistic sap in me.

But even then, you greet me
“Good morning,” and I hear you,
and you sound like you're of the Sun
touching through the barricades of Woodbury,
where the undead fuckers can't touch us.

And you buffer the cold of the wind
and the wet of the rain
when the kindling is too soaked
to start a fire big enough
to counter the draft
coming from under the doors,
or dry our jackets by the fireplace.

Which probably sounds like naivety,
but even after Woodbury rots from the inside out,
and we lose the car and our last can of beets
somewhere during our escape, and the rest of the way,
we're joking about the way things were
before they got worse, while hypothesizing
about the fall of man, epidemics and expiration dates
to forget the endless hills aching our feet, I could tell you:

“Sure, I mean, there are ten-thousand ways
the world can go to shit (and it probably has,)
and I might not live to one-hundred-three,
but if the world's gonna burn on me now,
it's always better watching with you.”

This poem, like a few that came after it, was heavily influenced by the nature of a post-apocalyptic world (thanks, The Walking Dead,) and dreams that I had relating to it. I seldom have nightmares about zombie apocalypses; usually they end up capturing this moment of tranquility in the midst of a decaying wasteland that is an effigy of what the world once was.

It's an element to that world that intrigues me; the idea of anything that could possibly go wrong, being likely to go wrong, but you have these moments where the shitshow slows down just long enough for you to remember that there's always something, or someone, that's worth laughing at all the bad luck, licking your wounds and doing what you can to scrape by.
Dan McKee Mar 20

It seemed, all at once, that the world had ended.
The glass had shattered, the idols had fallen,
And all the world was burning.
He turned to the wise old one,
Tears in his eyes,
And begged "Oh please
"Say that it will pass, that this is not the end!"
Old eyes looked back, and an old throat cackled
"The end, my boy? That we'd be so lucky!"

Felt like writing something- hardly a poem, but oh well.
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