Epitaph - Poem by Marck Riggins
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
Comments about Epitaph by Marck Riggins
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.