Armageddon - Poem by Leon Gellert
The world rolls wet with blood,
and the skinny hand of Death
gropes at the beating heart.
The salt tears well and flood
with strife the choking breath,
and nations sway and part.
The scythe of Time runs red,
red with the bleeding year.
Sound is but a knell,
and Sleep has a scarlet bed.
Dreams are wet with Fear,
and Honour sits in Hell.
Comments about Armageddon by Leon Gellert
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.