The world rolls wet with blood,
and the skinny hand of Death
gropes at the beating heart.
The salt tears well and flood
with strife the choking breath,
and nations sway and part.
The scythe of Time runs red,
red with the bleeding year.
Sound is but a knell,
and Sleep has a scarlet bed.
Dreams are wet with Fear,
and Honour sits in Hell.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Armageddon by Leon Gellert )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- A Homage To The Freedom Fighters Of India, Raja Basu
- Men, Maya Angelou
Poem of the Day
- Gravestone Tanka, Chenou Liu
- Casted Caught And Casted, Susan Lacovara
- Quiet White, Susan Lacovara
- A Synthetic Poet in the Webs., Norman Jin Shyr Wang
- Lemons, Maylee Bossy
- Rhino, Jonathan Walker
- The devil Is For Real, Phyllis Strong
- Creative Souls, Anthony Daniels
- Awaken My Heart, Anthony Daniels
- Joyful Heart, Anthony Daniels