In Search of Nostradamus: APOCALYPTICA, A Book of Prophetic Poetry, Part Two, 121-140, by satnrose

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In Search of Nostradamus: APOCALYPTICA, A Book of Prophetic Poetry, Part Two, 121-140, by satnrose


The Second Civil War, following

the disappearance of the first man

Fought in the marketplaces and carnivals

Blooded in sugar, burned in bread


1000 generations after Moses

The promised land finally delivered

40 years was not enough to cleanse

But well long enough to forget


How many children have to die in plague?

How many homes red above the door?

The Infernal Bridegroom comes home alone

Expecting a wife where there is none.


In the Church of No Church the believers

Choose their deaths from their greatest fears

The Faith is all that is left behind forever

The Holy Ghost can do nothing but laugh and laugh


There is a real time, a real moment

A place where even then there is no end

John had a Revelation but he was just

A man like other men like us


Turn back 13 times, turn back

A calendar is an artifice and God

Holds to no schedule, makes no plan

All predictions turn out deaf and dumb


The multitude takes the Black Road

Each step a step on the way to Hell

Prepared well in advance by horrors and slashers

The mind made callous as bare feet


Infinite random indecipherable library

The big book opened to a blank page

No ink left in whatever pen

If you must write, write in blood


To the worlds beyond this world

The spread of life means the spread of Sun

As long as the pin of its light can be seen

Drink deep the white, the yellow, the night


Beneath the ground all the layers of history

Eventually you must come to stone rock

But farther and farther in, the liquid magma

The chakra of all focus, the marriage of dark


Mirrored in the sky, the soul awaits

The moon-high Buddha sits and meditates

It is in our nature to find meaning where none exists

But that said, still must make a judgment


The Caesar, breaker of all patterns, bard of ages,

Winding up the clock, setting the bell

Telling the Senate their days are over

But keeping up the pretence for the sake


Awake, awake! We must be ever on

The path is so simple no one can find it

But just traveling the way is made for us

Until we lose the trail in the mountains


Silently the creepers come up the barrier

The waves slam headfirst against the boulders

The wind turns into bullets, the will to sand

And no one knows what keeps them alive


An ant crawls across the face

The meek seek out the hiding place

Survival becomes all important

Hunger a state of art


When the hand disintegrates into air

The meeting never happens, the skull fails

The ears hear only what they want to hear

And what is said is not believable


In Afghanistan the poppies grow again and again

The legends repeat themselves no matter what

Learn or don't learn, it doesn't really matter

The earth inhales all breath, exhales death


Agony makes up for indifference

The easy form of torture knows no boundaries

Any nation that denies the truth of divination

Becomes a pawn to the will of the Players


Out of control, the path of least resistance

Dictates that all roads lead down to the sea

And the roads in the sea lead down

To the trenches of Mariana


Honor destroyed, the sense of right and wrong suppressed

The Padre leads the Doom Cult into the Wilderness

Promising all things to all people breaking all vows

Admonishing the past, walking in the now

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