Matthew Gould

The End of All Things

Enveloping mists,

Swirling around a black fist.

Alongside the wailing wind,

The black sun that sinned.

Thunderous hoof-beats,

As Demon and Mortal realms meet.

To know the truth, you don't need a seer,

There will be no happy ending here.

The loud cries upon the air,

The four horsemen astride their dark mares.

Signaling doom to the drunk and the sober,

Desecrating the sanity of Jehovah.

Under Famine, crops become dust,

Pestilence leaves cities to rot and rust.

War spreads madness, inspiring all to slaughter,

To dark Death, all humans are fodder.

Leading the crusade against hope,

There is no way to cope.

There are no more four-leaf clovers,

You know it's all over.

Lying fetid beneath the river,

Eagles tear out your liver.

And you cry out to the sky,

Angels, why won't you fly?

Mountains falling, hills rent asunder,

Oh, what a diabolical wonder.

The butterfly's infinite gyre molts,

This is the end prophesied by all cults.

A path of joy, turned to ash,

All hopes and dreams are dashed.

Wherever you roam,

The earth is no longer home.

Chaos's triumph and God's demise,

It's Fate's fatal surprise.

A charred waste,

Filled with corpses, all light erased.

Only traces left of civilization's endeavourers,

The night will last forever.

Dawn will never be revived,

The end of all things has arrived.