World War Three

The warriors from the East
shall trample the earth
with their mighty guns
the frenzy of bottled disgusts
against power from the Western Realms
and their mighty circle
that sit around the round table,
crests and crowns upon their shields,
they who know their statures
and prowess made them emperors
and warlords of the Earth

The air will be cleaved by anger
translates in thunder, its might eager
to show sovereignty of the blue skies
lightning shall they spew
burning cities destroying empires
scorching the land with fury

billowing sails of ghosts ships
lend valour to the crests of man
to push beyond their ken.

thundering lightning of man’s ingenuity
from the land where almond eyed beauties
dwell, and poets with tinkling cymbals ponder
will ravage lands where robust man
proud of their own fearlessness
and their kinfolks thrive
on cities of silver,  carved of beauty
painted with tears of the conquered
they shall know the flight of their serfs
and drink the bitter waters of despair

The bid for supremacy
the race for the throne
the screams against heaven
the warrior cries for Asmodai
and millions who scream in the name
of the Almighty, God the Creator
God is Great, God is Great!
thunderous the war will be
shaking its foundations to the core

The third wave of change
the third world war
will come in a cacophony
of sounds, sighs, cries, screams
man-made blights from beakers
will fight in silence
against thundering missiles
of anger and hatred

It will be done

The earth shall be a vast battleground
blushing red in radars
accompanied by black outs
the air fills with flying steels
guided by angels in silent wings
and companions of thunder and lightning
will traverse the sky’s highway
destruction dropped on the earth below
In avid killing spree

When at last the war is done
the scythe man and his minions
will shake their heads in consternation
for all have been reaped and thus
all sowed
they have done their best to clean
the earth of its discards
to replenish mankind
let innocence take hold.
Again.

 
Early morning, no later I would wake
Nearly tripped, furniture’s out of place
The sun barely kissed the tree-line
Steaming coffee for the cold inside
There’s your crooked picture on the wall
You were five, and I wasn’t nearly bald
I’d check the mail if there ever was
But now it’s time to wait for the bus


Wrote a name
To shelter the flame
When the world is in pain
Credit me
For this final scene
In pointless reverie


I know it’s Winter now, the ash piles up
And the liquid turns stale in my cup
The heat is broken and my home’s not wired
All of a sudden, now I grow tired
Think I’ll sleep before the sun goes dark
Or walk through the night, to the park
I can’t remember where I left my mask


I can see tomorrow through my empty flask


Wrote a name
To shelter the flame
When the world is in pain
Credit me
For this final scene
In pointless reverie
Wonder why
That I could fly
Only when I’d lost the sky
I will try
To keep it alive
Only once it died