And if the old oak in the yard
should never again blossom life
...
Had there never been a day
that I surveyed your smile,
or tasted the scent of roses
sung from your untamed locks;
...
The love that lives inside the soul of man-
its light, now dimmed by all it has endured;
...
Beautiful Apocalypse
And if the old oak in the yard
should never again blossom life
and cede its soil for a bed of death;
if the sea shone mirror-like
without hint of a ripple;
its tide lost, in the breath of a burgundy dawn.
If the sun should collapse in the zenith sky
and spew fiery rains of indignation,
or if the rosebuds lost forever,
Their ambition to bloom;
and grew inclined to ignore springs whispers.
If the midnight sky—
with its thousand points of light
turned aphotic, as it swallowed the moon.
If the Earth dared to shed her chimera of calm,
opened up, and belched hell to her surface,
and creation was raised to the heavens
and all things were made to face truth,
standing amidst the rubble, unscathed,
is love
impervious love
© 2012 Keith Horton