I wrote this poem last fall for a Creative writing course. It compares the Autumn season with the end of time.
Eschatology
A wave of fire streaming from the north,
Black robed reapers in the fields to glean,
A skeletal band, creaking, sallies forth,
Wrecks crusting carnage on the fading green.
Mist is summoned from its earthen sleep,
The clouds are splattered with the sun’s red gore,
The sky is opened; space grows dark and deep,
The raven’s throat is hoarse with words of war.
We will walk upon that golden day,
See the season as it sets and goes,
As the Fall is slain and dragged away,
Marvel at His work that plainly shows
An eternal Homily –
Autumns Eschatology.