Apocalypse Poem by Robert Dummett

Dawn fires fierce and furious
breaking the day of stillness
with gulls wailing rusty on wings.
Earth toasts crisp today
and charred faces of children
with sockets scorched smoulder like lava,
but innocent cries melt in the air.
No veils shade these lasers of light
that etch epitaphs on roads and roofs.

Politicians never saw beyond drawn curtains
of blitz and appropriation of pickings
decked deceptively as democracy,
so they tried to retrieve their sacred scrolls
long forgotten, but it was too late.
Heady priests draped with grief's bloodstains
on shoulders, sip the wine of regret.

As earnest expectations splintered
on the hard rocks of reality,
they looked around disbelieving.
No time to forge a route of escape
for all will be salted with fire.

With the last breath ebbing
all they can do, is treasure
the remaining gulps and hope.