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The Apocalypse

Artist: Alan Thomas
Artist's Description
This is a poem I wrote about planet earth and how we treat her.

Genre(s): New Age, Rock
Mood(s): Angry, Calm, Dark, Strange
Style(s): Alternative
Language(s): English

The Apocalypse

By Alan Thomas
We rape her daily
Then cry when we see a bird die.
Poisoned, nearly dead
her blue eyes cry red
She no longer sleeps peacefully
No me too for her
To afraid to breath while she weeps
Her wisest child, now old and a creep
He whips her almost to defeat
He kills his brothers and sisters.
He stomps them out with boots made of leather,
Made by the sweet.
But her ropeadope knocks him of his feet
Sleeping now his head rests on her breast
He’s not the first son to bubble over with deceit
No longer a victim
Her heart still beats under the snow
And her blood still boils in the deep
For now she breathes a sigh of relief
the warmth of a friend tends to her wounds
While she dances hand in hand with her lover
She bares another from the bones of the other.


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