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Image for the poem "The Apocalyptic, Chthonic Harbingers."

"The Apocalyptic, Chthonic Harbingers."

 "Hark," the Apocalyptic chthonic
angels sing

And I try so hard to rise above
every day but this shits so fucking,

Disheartening

No wisdom

No justice

No sympathy, only self-indulgence

So I see this and I feel this

I am fed by this

It has become unto me, my bread
of affliction

I am stricken

I am taken aback

I see the misery of oppression and
wonder, "How long will we have to
live in this baleful condition; will it
ever cut us any slack,"

"The woeful conditions of living have
become a whip on the backs of
mankind
Ever lashing out at us and ripping
the skin from bone, all the way to
the spine
Unto which punishment no mercy is
shown, no balm offered because
opportunistic leaders for their own
greed tap into our cerebral cortex
and control and use us and make us
a pawn,"

"Hark," the apocalyptic chthonic
harbingers sing

And their song is one that causes
trouble and darkness in the bowels
of the earth to those who know the
frequency on which their crooning



Written by hungrypan74 (Dantalyon)
Published
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