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The End’s Hard Edge
The End Is Near, it always was,
Its point is clearer now because
Collapsed disturbance occupies
With moaning cries and droning skies;
So penetrate to higher things
Remembering what Evil brings:
With atheism’s soul-in-mime,
We’re far from god, the high sublime,
And evolution’s theory spreads
To butter brains in Hell-held heads.
But there are phrases we can use
Though traitors try to disabuse.
Our faithful yearning flies us free
Of Evil’s last-ditch tyranny.
The mind’s hard-pressed, the soul seems torn,
The darkest hour before the dawn.
.
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Damian Robin is a writer and editor living in the United Kingdom.
The first and last stanzas, for me, invoke Romans 13:11-12, “Besides this you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”
Thanks for sharing your poem.
There is so much that rings true in your wonderful poem, Damian, starting with the end is nigh and “droning skies.” I particularly loved that latter line. “With atheism’s soul-in-mime,” is inspired phraseology. “Butter brains in Hell-held heads” is particularly striking! Great work.
Much to dwell on. Fare thee well, Damian, and thank you for being here.
Damian, I hope that in your darkest hour on earth you had the prayerful company of family and perhaps other supporters. You have my prayers now, and my appreciation for this last poem reminding us all that the end is near. Roy is right to notice your striking (or I would say “spreading”) butter image. The theory of evolution does much to destroy human dignity in our human minds, but you have a wonderful way of saying in meter that evolution spreads our brains to butter while Hell holds our heads. Inimitable!
A haunting poem, especially given the circumstance. RIP Damian.
This is thought-provoking and haunting. That poem’s rhythm feels like a dreadful march. Superbly done.
I am sorry to learn of Damien’s demise; he was a fine friend of the SCP. This is a particularly poignant ‘last’ poem. May he – at the last – enter Paradise with all the saints and join the special place there for poets.