The Face of Apocalypse

Gray ash fell to the scorched landscape like dying moths only scattered shells remain of once noble statues monuments of steel fragmented against a burning sky the face of apocalypse grimaced an unwavering defiance wings of angels sent burning air snaking, swirling as they descended collecting the souls worthy of salvation worthy of another life on another world

Deckard

I began writing poetry when I was a teenager and it truly saved me from a destructive path. 'Time Heals' will be on my grave stone'. I have 3 incredible kids who are the greatest gifts that God has given me. If I have advice to give to aspiring...

More about me