"eschaton" poems
Watch from your fancy TV screen -
Hypnotized
as your illusions of choice atrophy
A trophy, at your feet
Conceived in rage
From the place where miracles abound
The Eschaton will Immanentize
Dark energy entities
emanating from every corner all around
Hi - Def Surround Sound
Hide - Death Surrounds Hounds
It will bring you to your knees
When the Earth and all its Majesty
Crumble at the hands of the One-Eyed Messiah
The one I despise
You are all deceived
And to him they will scream
"Save Us"
Disenchantment following
Falling victim to his folly;
False exalted flesh reveres no seer
Neither those seared by his imprint
The prevelance of his contrivance
an resemblance of penance
for lack of repentance
And I'll cry to the sky
For the impending hour is nigh
And all things will seem unreal
Perchance a dream
When the duality is truly realized
The wailing and lament
of innumerable disembodied voices
will dually harmonize
The masses will chant
Praying for requiem
And then duly perish
Silhouettes
Pendulously suspended by strings
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 10:19 AM UTC
The big bang was your conception.
The expansion of nutritive gases and stars
filled the womb of your pregnant mother.
As barely an earthed fetus, you seemed an animal.
As a newborn, you grew primitively, slowly rose.
Enlightenment when you came of age
to discover yourself human.
Now, in your Twenty-First, the century
of drugged science, you live like a half-god
in ever-questioning evolved reversion,
in a contradictory asylum of paralyzing speed,
rising steep to its ringed peak funneling fumes
that revive the smell of your instincts, primal and fiery.
Then, in one final breath, in the outpour
on volcano’s point, melting and bursting
in radial gasps once again, will come your death
in a matter of ours, the eschaton, a new bang
desired and conceived anew, so that in rebirth
will be your survival, in rebirth our continuity.
Mar 27, 2012
Mar 27, 2012 at 7:35 PM UTC
I fell asleep against
the stained glass that painted
the ground with colors that
children only see through
the lenses of kaleidoscopes;
vividness that blind men
only see when holding the
warm hands of their lovers.
I woke up to the bells
singing tunes of the eschaton
and the priest muttering
damnation upon the half-empty
bottle of Jim Beam resting in my lap.
"Want a swig?" I asked with a stagger.
"No," he replied. "Whiskey is the devil's elixir
and besides,
there are plenty a bottle of Christ's blood behind the altar from which to choose."
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 2:24 AM UTC
I. Manifest, oh Apparition;
I invoke thee to show me your light
so that I may apportion some inhibition
How I beseech thee, oh illusions of perception;
Masterfully guised as wolves among sheep
II. Materialize, oh manic vision;
For I have listened as the chasms between the Heavens and Earth
both wax and wane
Simultaneously
How I implore you -
throw down your swords;
For it is all the deplorable horrors
(sorrows) you reap
unto this world that I weep
III. Manifest, oh Phantasm;
When deceased molecules coalesce
A breathe of life is given to those ****** and bereft
A resurgent culmination unleashed
Dawning the end of Man
and the rise of the Beast
Is it that you simply perceive or believe -
or lack thereof
that constitutes your reality?
*Bestow the sceptre unto the spectre;
Assuredly, there you'll uncover a sepulchre*
Jul 9, 2013
Jul 9, 2013 at 7:44 AM UTC
The soothsayer promised a resolution.
Will there be everlasting unity
Among us humans?
The lost lovers sung
Alongside the dying swans.
Their hands raised,
Longing to find each other's arms.
Redemption returns,
Possibilities alter.
The day of reckoning confirmed
A beginning to clutch--
The rivers reverse.
I ruminate,
Alchemic waterfalls--
A crash.
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
(Originally written 12/23/10,
Revised 9/23/14)
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
under the lost perch dreams are dying
birds crashing without batting a wing
fungus growing in circular rings
the thud of tiny footsteps hoping for a better day
innocence just wanting to play
sun tired ending its shift early moon oversleeping day and night cry
oreo black across the sky
nightfall crashing left and right
neighborhoods acres of no light
courts closed due to the dark
***** stop bouncing lost in the park
darkness now spread from zero to one the end of light has just begun
Nov 26, 2024
Nov 26, 2024 at 11:18 AM UTC
Christ’s chains pay homage to his hollow hardship.
Breathing brimstone and sulfur unto their laps.
A gnarled knuckle ending in a curved claw strips
skin from bone ‘til their souls seize, and they collapse.
Come the eve they howl their harebrained hearsay.
Licked by forgotten bone and beasts’ bloodstained whips.
As Joan stares down Judas, before her horns flay
Him down to splintered, shadowy mangled wisps.
Muscles contort, mutilated in a mound
their guts greasing the hall’s cracked nooks and crannies.
When out from the back came the man who was crowned
Lord of the Flies, and beneath his gaze life flees.
With barren fingernails he scraped the stone wall
cold unblinking eyes searching for his next prey,
until they rested on the disciple, Paul.
A sad huddled mass that fervently prays.
He spat a cruel cackle and readied his blade,
As Paul feebly raises his fists, burdened by chains
and whispered, “In lord’s name may I please be saved.”
Yet alas, in a mere moment he was slain .
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
You left yourself there.
I guess I was so used to seeing you
against those walls
and never pinning you to them
that I began to wonder
if you ever left that room.
It was never warm where we were
but we wore coats.
We listened for the howling wind
and turned our backs against it.
Your cheeks were flushed
and I could not help but rush
to look away.
You had this way of making people feel
like they were seeing something they shouldn't.
I am not very clever
but I know this:
you were happy and hopeless
and I tore that down.
You were a lark building his nest,
so timeless, so graceful, and I can attest
to the fact that you were content
exactly where you were.
There it is--
there is the difference between us.
I was a different sort of tired than you were;
mine was perpetual boredom with the world
while yours was a pleasant aching
deriving from a day of labor.
As I said,
you were the type to build a nest.
I was the sort that aspired to fly to heaven,
and hit a windowpane instead.
Call me Icarus,
and I will call you magpie.
I have never been one for terms of endearment,
but these seem to fit,
don't you think?
In a dream you met me for the second time. In the same dream you left the city, something you swore you'd never do.
In a dream you shone out
like everything I had ever been told
about the end, the eschaton.
Maybe you were meant to crush the serpent.
Maybe I was meant to write the book of Revelation.
We are not alive to exist in captivity but to consider how we might one day escape.
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
cerebral particles emanate as dreams vaporize, vile creatures roam untethered, a blinding flicker, the world crumbles.
firmly committed beliefs diminish into oblivion as the absence of hope provokes unprecedented forlornness, setting in motion a societal restructuring into mass hysteria and perpetual insanity. The end precedes anew, humanity falls silent,
as nefarious roisterings echo amidst the surroundings.
Sep 9, 2020
Sep 9, 2020 at 8:52 AM UTC