The Doomsday Myth

The End is Nigh But Poetry Can Make A Person Fly

The Doomsday Myth


The creatures of the underworld

Slither around in the darkness,

The minions of the dark

Creep in the silent park.

The flames of the rumbling belly

Threateningly loom bright in the darkness,

The hungry flames of hate,

Loom dangerously in the darkness.

The carrions of death

Feed off the envy and the hate,

The evils of the flesh

Crave the gold at the gate.

The inky blackness

Of the gnawing darkness

Brings the most dreadful creatures

Into existence with horrific features

To create havoc in their mirth,

On a quietly slumbering earth.


The raging hurricanes of doom

Grow more furious by each hour

The screaming, shrieking winds

Gain more fury at every passing hour.

The aching mountains on the ghostly hill

And the broken trees no longer are still,

Tossed in the raging storm of disease,

They snap like twigs in a breeze.

The waters of the oceans

Turn into blood red,

The creatures of the sea

Lie dying on the sea-bed.

Mankind lies still and silent

In this stormy, restless time

And waits in deathly slumber

For his punishment for his crime.

All life crumbles to dust

In the storm of ancient time,

In the decay of this unholy clime.

All life lies like a coil in the womb

All death lies like a foil in the tomb.


Warriors of the shining light

On their racing steeds of light,

Race through the skies at night

Changing day into morning bright.

Warriors in the crimson sky

Charge into the valley and mountains high,

Chasing demons as they fly,

Vanquishing evil from out of the sky.

The silver warriors of might

Change the darkness and the night

Making fierce figures in human sight

Destroyers of Evil with lances of light.


Guarding the treasures

They have been given

Holding all fragile life in the universe

In the palms of their hands

As life and soul spins in time

These are the Guardians of our time.

Moving galaxies in a thought

And shaping the cosmos with a flutter,

Protecting every star in space

Moving every moon in its own race,

As life and soul spins in time

These are the Guardians of our time.


Those heavy metal gates

With all its embellishments,

Is a welcome sign to those who arrive at last,

With no future and no distant past.

But, the keeper of the gate

Makes his own decision

With mathematical precision.

Will you be welcome

At the Gates of Heaven?

Those iron gates stand tall

Like a forbidden metal wall

To stop those from walking in

To stop those who bathe in sin.

Can you help regain

The souls of the fallen?

Can you help restore

The souls of those who walk no more?

Will you be welcome,

Filled with hatred and sin?

Will you be welcome,

At the Gates of Heaven?

See those Pearly Gates, beside the Heavenly Sea

Those Holy Gates of Everlasting Eternity.


It is now that the Creators Descend

Within the darkness, within the light

With the brightness beyond human sight.

And now they make their presence felt,

Now is the beginning of the end.

Then Judgment and wisdom is very real

In this jury of the silver Celestial.

Now the sins are all cast out,

Now the hatred and the darkness,

Are left in the abyss of the south.

It is now judgment time

When all is brought forward,

All is cleansed with the Holy Word.

All the unhappiness, all the sorrows

All the hatred and all the mortal pain

Are now bathed in soft Celestial rain.

Now this is the end of Evil infernal,

Now is the beginning of Peace eternal.


Then the Earth

Can take no more

Neither the fire or the rain,

Neither the hunger or the pain.

The silence of the airless death

Is broken by the gasp of the birth.

The darkness of the deathly end,

Is filled with the light of a new beginning.

A rose opens into a perfumed bloom

Over the settling humming gloom.

Earth finds its new voice

In the creatures who rejoice.

Earth gets its new life

Overcoming all its old strife.

A new world of creation is born

With the arrival of a new dawn,

With its new hopes and dreams.

Life is once more made new,

With its fresh life and waters blue.

surreal poetry
How does it work?
Read next: I Am A Bullet.
Warren Brown

Warren Brown is an Independent Author and Publisher. Warren is a Life Coach, Copywriter (AWAI) and an Author Member of the Alliance of Independent Authors. Warren lives in London.

See all posts by Warren Brown