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Apocalypse


when the earth is touched by flames, like paper it’ll burn
and spark and curl. the stale pages of Genesis will char
and expire with the onset of destruction and discord in His
creation. wings of predators ignited, their caws and cries
will be throttled by the mottled colors of the end of time,
plumage dragging across the tarp of the sky. fire and judgement
and ash will cake the terrain. there is no ark to sail away on.
His messengers will extend their hands to a few while
the heavens stir and smolder and shed their ashes;
perhaps He too, will descend with the shavings of the sky.
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