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Marck Riggins


Epitaph


Wailing howl of this world's fate
An epitaph that punctuates
The time is short, the hour late
Fig tree's bud is blooming

Stand fast in eye of storms
Peace prevails, unalarmed
Still the madness goes unchecked
Our own destruction looming

The world in this tumult raves
Gathering front of white-capped waves...
Coal-black sky of clouds that rage
From thunderclaps is booming

Submitted: Friday, April 25, 2014
Edited: Saturday, April 26, 2014

Topic of this poem: apocalypse


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