Apocalypse Now: At The End (Inspired By Jim Morrison)

What is The Future?
You ask a poet:
He/she is chaos
in the muddy waters of vernal blindness
seeking, faltering down a wayward path;
indians on pavement telling us of it.
What is it, you still ask?
I go there to recall:
To the edge of knowing,
to the unbirthing.
I fall inside a dream,
I fall, blinded.
Hissing nightmare
trickling into red streams,
and The Future is there.
Sea of everything, everyone;
shredded war-torn tranquility
of Earth's wrath:
I am no wiser there,
I am no poet there.
I cannot tell you of these things
you ask.
I am stoned into creation
as being slips away,
opening doors.
A flower mind:
The petals fall away and scatter
to redden like Dawn's shuddering eden
heading west, setting into a dull heat.
But, where is The Future?
It hitched a ride to nowhere.
Written by PoetsRevenge
Published | Edited 8th Jan 2020
Author's Note
Written for the New Year's Predictions comp, inspired by Jim Morrison 👑📖📚
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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