Apocalypse Now

The sky dissolves in fire. Thunder roars
and drowns the howl of children down below
who cringe before the fury of the storm.
The waters boil. Inland the hot simoom
erodes our eyes, our skin. All shelter’s gone.
The trees explode in flame. The furnace heat
cracks up the parching soil before it flies
in clouds about the sky, too hot to bear.
Our breathing comes like molten lead inside.
The crackling flames deride the crumbling town.
It quickly lost its pride, rocked on the waves
of magma seething underneath the streets
that quickly fill with rubble, covering
the wrecks of rusting cars.

The horses have returned! Look, overhead
the four grim riders, come to take their due,
swoop down upon the land, a wail of woe
before them. Our own brand is on our brows.
They need but look to know in just what way
and where we have to go.