After the first death there is no other.
(Dylan Thomas)
This is the end of time.
The days come to sunset;
The nights come to dawn.
It is all over, it is.
When the lances are drawn
to slay those who dare not
approach the death on their own.
This is the end of time.
The springs come to summer;
The autumns come to winter.
The growing is over, it is.
And no other begins anew
when the slain stay in a desolate field that,
beastlessly, buries them.
On the high Ground of aeternal battle
beholding the banners over the battlements
broken by untimely frost
coming forth, the four Riders
having been sent towards
the end of time.
This is the time
of gaining no victories.
All the victories come to a loss
All the losses victorious
When the soldiers, defending and charging alike,
fall in the slimy bloodshed of time:
the conquerors conquered,
the conquered conquering,
When the Four Riders
come forth to accomplish
the end of time:
A crimson rose-blossom
lonely beyond
beholding.
Lauma Lapa
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/end-of-time-2/
