Apocalypse By Frank Parkes

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Frank Parkes

In the last days,

Strange sights shall visit the earth. 

Sights that may turn to blood the moon, 

This sun to midnight-in the last days.

But now, when swords are not yet ploughshares,

And spears still spears,

Hearken you, my little ones.

If walking, shaded by the mango tree, 

Or running naked, scorched by this blazing sun,

You aught perceive

Now, while the arrow remains arrow, 

And the miracle of spears and pruning hooks

Still remains an unseen miracle 

Remember, my little one's 

If perchance your infant feet do slide

And you find yourselves in some mysterious dungeon

Of black vengeful Sasabonsam, 

In realms where dogs make speech,

And horns adorn the human front; 

Where mermaids in their skirts of silvery scales 

And chattering sea beasts flout mankind-

If in this strange sub-human realm 

Your eyes fall on a stone, a hard black stone,

Lifeless and muddy, that has grown a beard, 

Pray children, pass silently by. 

Ask no questions.

For you are face to face with the first days 

And the beginning and the end are one.

And in the end shall strange sights visit earth, 

Stones shall be turned to men

And men to stones;

Sparrows beget eagles

And sand become good grain.

So children,

If perchance you see a hare that roars 

Or an ape perched in a palanquin, 

Look on in silence. Quickly pass by.


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