The Second Advent Poem by Goodness Tchibueze

Lo, it is almost here at last!
Earth's bowel has burst,
Her muds heave apart.
Not science, not art
Can draw near its teethed-hollow,
Or needle down the tumult to follow.
On Event's two cardinal points,
The wind teeters the joints;
The bearing ignores the raging storm,
The rolling din muffles the thunderstorm.
when the fowl entraps the fowler,
The trigger locks, the barrel cannot sound;
Let men drive in a stroller
Their excuses, their problems abound.
Where locusts plough a field,
Starvation is oft the plentiful yield.
Bats soon shall quit the dark
To give men a damnating mark,
Men filthy with stubborn stains.
The sea shall bleed from the pains -
Its mouth glowing with blood - of whoever
Shall to death submit to live forever.
Though the Light had claimed the torch-bearers,
He shall claim they who starred as sufferers
Of Earth's purgative eruption,
While the bats prevail unto destruction...
This end shall herald another beginning
Where soundness shall be reigning.