by Nick Gisburne
On the highest mountain peaks
In the temples of the west
Locked within a tiny room
Lives the Oracle of Doom
With his visions we are blessed
Listen as he speaks:
Tremble as the planet breaks
Mountains shatter, scorched and scarred
Cities, broken, burst and crash
Waves of fire and boiling ash
Bodies burning, smoking, charred
Tremble as he wakes
Stare in terror at the skies
See him rip the walls of space
Witness death’s unholy dreams
Marching through a field of screams
Wickedness consumes his face
Stare into his eyes
Feel the fear and boundless pain
See his plague infect the sky
Stinking tides of poisoned blood
Mankind choking in the mud
All will suffer as they die
Feel the blazing rain
Thus, the prophet, cold with dread
Faints and falls, but speaks once more:
If these future threads be spun
Fate decrees what must be done
Make a sandwich, lock the door
Don’t get out of bed
This was heading far from my original plans, into the realms of magniloquence(!), but I think I managed to steer it onto a different course. Putting these words into the mouth of a prophet made all the difference. Maybe.
