apocalypse

A New World Will Rise

bernardsbarnes Musings, Poetry , , , , , , , , , , ,

After the bombs, the riots, the protests, and all the rest of the excitement finally subside, all that will remain will be rats, roaches, and ruin.

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That, and those winos on the corner.
Still trying to scrape together enough for a bottle
– even though the liquor stores’s gone.

When the shakes from detox subside and clarity returns, they’ll either die drinking gasoline, or they’ll form a new society.

–BSB

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if it’s not better, it’s not the end

bernardsbarnes Poetry , , , ,

This is not the end
because it’s not better.
Do not allow yourself to become gripped
by the cold hand of panic
we can assure you this
horror show
will not sustain.
No worries or fear
that this landslide of depravity and
pestering, supercilious silliness
will be the be all and end all
of all we know and are.
Have faith in a power
that’s merciful
with good taste
who will give this place
a thorough scrubbing
before the curtain falls.
There’s a lot of broken glass
and promises
a lot of empty, used toilet rolls,
toilet bowls and toilet humour
left lying in the ditches
and the rubbled buildings
they’re hanging from the trees
alongside the effigies
of the leaders we deemed dull.

the unavoidable allure of brutality

bernardsbarnes Poetry , , , , ,

I wish I had a throat to slit
or a house to rob
or a man to steal of life
it all seems so much simpler
with some goal to achieve
a man to kill, or
a quary to gain
my heart, it goes to those
with real purpose
a true end
for those people
seem to me
the purest kind of brutal
raw and unabashed
who would allow themselves
to kill in the name of
whatever
fame
sex
flesh
joy
whatever

the world I know

bernardsbarnes Poetry , , , , , ,

I have awoken to a world of shit

am I, myself, less than I believe myself to be
am I, simply left unkempt, a lowly and dumb beast
am I, left unchecked and unattached, another fuck
what am I

another great lover, left free to float and fornicate
and fritter away my adult life

or a body of cloth and soap to dress up
and wipe off and parade around

what about another worker to move and lift and drop
and pour and stack and stuff and pack and bind
and tie and build and wreck and obey

what am I to you

something more

grand finally

bernardsbarnes Poetry , , , , ,

it dismays me to no limit
the lengths and depths at which
the glitz and glamour grows
to provide pleasant distraction
while our humanity ebbs away

what dismays me even more
are the lengths we will go to participate
the depths to which we will sink

I begin to fear that our end
will not come with the quiet fizzle into silence
that I always hoped for
it seems to me now that it will come
with a deafening BOOM
and an explosion of pyrotechnics

the wandering

bernardsbarnes Poetry , , , ,

I look around and all I see is bold hypocrisy
never knowing truly what I’ve found
I wander through this wasteland full of new atrocity
and question why my wrists are tightly bound

the hunters hunt the hunted and the killers kill the killed
the hunter and the killer, I am not
the mind is much more scared now – the thrillers can’t be thrilled
you never know the thrillers ’til they’re caught

the searching eye, it sees me, but it knows not what it sees
the drunken eye can look but it’s not clear
I see the wayward maiden and I watch her as she pleas
and begs the watching eye to see her here