This is one of my "apocalyptic" poems, a subject that my poetry has covered extensively. It is intended to awaken the spirit of mankind so that mankind will not realize this "prophecy". Only love and gentle kindness has the power to overcome this prophecy. Technology cannot and will not.
The Last Conflict
Death rode the hillsides on his mighty steed
With absent pathos his eternal creed,
To search the ruins for remaining life,
Not saddened by the final human strife.
He galloped through the countryside forlorn,
With mission's sense his armor to adorn,
Undisturbed by the silence around him,
Save for the sound of harps and angel's hymn.
Nothing remained but buildings' charcoaled bones,
Man's madness loosed on unprotected zones,
When superpowers struggled to survive
Each side's weaponry, with no one alive.
Suddenly, Death could hear a muffled cry
Of tiny infant who was left to die
Beside his mother, who was silent now,
And, Death, for one quick moment, wondered how.
Death looked upon the bleeding infant small.
With bulging eyes and frothing mouth as pall,
And he wondered why infant suffered so
While others died quickly so long ago.
Death, unperturbed, briskly dismounted horse,
Removed his steel dagger with no remorse,
And plunged it through the dying infant's heart,
Before remounting, weary, to depart.
Copyright © 2002 Robert L Tremblay
