deepundergroundpoetry.com
My Body is a Bomb
***WARNING: Some Offensive Religious Content***
Audio Recording @:
https://soundcloud.com/jim-nut-roarin/sets/rough-medley-the-last-three
My body is a bomb and the church will crumble,
The city shall be a tomb while the mathematics fumble...
I bring forth a fiery psalm as grand towers tumble,
Loud warning of the Doom when the asphalts rumble...
Hear ye, the vast lands are in trouble...
Beneath your screens and wrappers a treachery brews,
The farms shall bear no more food, forests grow a useless wood,
The compass will lose its’ pole, meteors cleave their barren hole,
The metal will fail every fuse, your papers of money will have no use,
And the blood of martyred plankton shall run forever dry...
Ye had the Book, the Sign, the Omen,
Yet still as drunkards did ye haste to stumble,
For without Watchful eye, has the enemy taken its’ room,
Ye who were certain shall soon be humble...
For then the wasted rotted human womb
Will disintegrate among the smoldering rubble...
And in the last puddle shall no Second Kingdom bloom,
The last cell gives up the struggle and dares not double...
My body is a bomb, and the church will crumble...
Audio Recording @:
https://soundcloud.com/jim-nut-roarin/sets/rough-medley-the-last-three
My body is a bomb and the church will crumble,
The city shall be a tomb while the mathematics fumble...
I bring forth a fiery psalm as grand towers tumble,
Loud warning of the Doom when the asphalts rumble...
Hear ye, the vast lands are in trouble...
Beneath your screens and wrappers a treachery brews,
The farms shall bear no more food, forests grow a useless wood,
The compass will lose its’ pole, meteors cleave their barren hole,
The metal will fail every fuse, your papers of money will have no use,
And the blood of martyred plankton shall run forever dry...
Ye had the Book, the Sign, the Omen,
Yet still as drunkards did ye haste to stumble,
For without Watchful eye, has the enemy taken its’ room,
Ye who were certain shall soon be humble...
For then the wasted rotted human womb
Will disintegrate among the smoldering rubble...
And in the last puddle shall no Second Kingdom bloom,
The last cell gives up the struggle and dares not double...
My body is a bomb, and the church will crumble...
Published 10th May 2014
| Edited 3rd Jul 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1
reading list entries 1
comments 1
reads 808
Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
Greetings All! Hear Ye Once Again!
Many apologies, I was away for a bit due to some amounting depressions and disillusionments combined with the exhaustion of hard labours with the blackened Earth under the blaring Sun. But I should be back on track with things.
Here then is another dreary end-times poem. I probably have twenty or thirty of these types... a favourite topic...
I really wanted to post something to the recent competition hosted by member HadesRising ( http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/6807/ ), but of course, cannot force out anything new these days (some good reads on that thread, I recommend it).
But what I have to say about Prophetic Doom is this: It is obvious and easy to be all negative about the future, that everything will be blown to smithereens and return to some horrible blank nothingness (all my future poems are like that). For after all, you can look to the many examples abounding in reality - the youthful body of skin and beauty, pleasure and mobility will inevitably age and die; the most prominent of architecture will weather and eventually become derelict and abandoned; mountains will be consumed by oceans, planets and stars will be flung apart by unseen forces; and ultimately, great societies, cultures, governments and empires historically become corrupted and are no more. It is so easy to point these things out...
But to say the opposite, that the Future will be a Completion, and a Perfection of things...
That is the truly difficult poem to preach of...
Go ye your ways people!
Many apologies, I was away for a bit due to some amounting depressions and disillusionments combined with the exhaustion of hard labours with the blackened Earth under the blaring Sun. But I should be back on track with things.
Here then is another dreary end-times poem. I probably have twenty or thirty of these types... a favourite topic...
I really wanted to post something to the recent competition hosted by member HadesRising ( http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/forum/competitions/read/6807/ ), but of course, cannot force out anything new these days (some good reads on that thread, I recommend it).
But what I have to say about Prophetic Doom is this: It is obvious and easy to be all negative about the future, that everything will be blown to smithereens and return to some horrible blank nothingness (all my future poems are like that). For after all, you can look to the many examples abounding in reality - the youthful body of skin and beauty, pleasure and mobility will inevitably age and die; the most prominent of architecture will weather and eventually become derelict and abandoned; mountains will be consumed by oceans, planets and stars will be flung apart by unseen forces; and ultimately, great societies, cultures, governments and empires historically become corrupted and are no more. It is so easy to point these things out...
But to say the opposite, that the Future will be a Completion, and a Perfection of things...
That is the truly difficult poem to preach of...
Go ye your ways people!
