Apocalyptical seasons



Apocalyptical seasons


A blood moon frolicked to the astronomic blood dance, positioned in tyranny with humanity’s

fading memory of inequity.

All the weight on the scale of justice licks at the past, licking at its magical poison while

changing the season’s garment.

And the stain that plagues our mortality, a curse of birth with libations free flowing in heaven

is only a dream catcher of mockery.

The potter’s wheel spins me with a vertiginous hand shaping the universe that has had a

message sent into the invisible,

While all is hidden in a paradox, sealed with the fingers of flames which write secrets with an

enigmatic line in the sands of defiance.

Life grips the house of infinity with the windows of chance reflecting an image of incessant

jargon; a blind image sewn into the clouds of forewarning.

You become a belief in your own creation releasing the waltz of nightmares that scratch at your

essence to the chagrin of the last dot of spilled ink.

You witness images that chill your bones and stir you in the vortex of hostility.

The purging extension of pantomimes mimicking solitude throw pestilence to the mind which

jars the clanking of euphemistic prison bars.

The multitude driven to insanity with no shady corners to be hidden and no refuge from

predictions and prophecies that have gone mad.

And the dragon’s shadow heeds no warning from the old soul travelling with the pen of


All has been seen before in the storm of tears, filling with transient thoughts of water,

spilling from frames within a frame.

The siblings of the vine serenade an evil empire with a betrayal of crossing over, within the

schism of nothingness.

I sewed the stars together glittering the sky with twinkles – a last hope of bread crumbs to see

beforehand what is to come.

Within my globe many clouds rose from the earth in the heat wave of winds dispersing


An advisory to mankind of a bubbling cauldron of apocalyptical seasons and the thorns of the

rose brewing with a candle’s tear of horror.

And there it was.

A blood moon.

A sackcloth sun.



















32 responses to “Apocalyptical seasons

  1. Wow… That was such a powerful poem..
    “The purging extension of pantomimes mimicking solitude throw pestilence to the mind which jars the clanking of euphemistic prison bars.”
    I think we are all rattling those bars right now Joseph, as we break out to shout our truth to the world, in which we have been lied to for so long.. Excellent Muse my friend..
    Enjoy your weekend.. 🙂 Sue xx


  2. Pingback: Apocalyptical seasons | Seeing the whisper – Platypus Lady

Fill my mind with your thoughts

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s