Apocalyptic Dolly

The shuffling footsteps of a bygone era 
cast their ghostly shadows across a sunlit precinct 
where the perpetual motion of everyday spirits 
leave their inebriated traces.  

Here today gone tomorrow.  
Make merry and live a little 
as the chances fade gradually in the locked up safe of destiny 
where the code or combination can only be cracked by the wise guys 
-- fallen angels of another universe providing answers 
set by the questions of the stronger gened or indestructible pedagogs.  

The time bandits serve as ever-lasting sentence 
in the open spaces set aside by the saints of the apocalypse 
for only they know the destiny of infinite spaces and sources..... 
....
the sentence continues infinitely 
as our spectres pass in and out through the passages of time, 
clocking in secret planes of imaginative conduct.  

The 5.00 shift is a myth 
as the alarm bells awaken another thousand legions of mob-handed slaves 
destined to a life of misery and un-answered questions.  

The suspicious disguise provides no answers 
where truly enlightened demi-gods worship 
at the cracked pedestals of bygone effegies.  
Marble statues from the antique raise their limbless attributes 
in praise of future guidance 
and the thundering lightning lights up the universal night sky 
in a crescendo of artificial rainbows 
split eternally by the assymetrical prism.  

We, to come, are as guilty as our forefathers, 
utterly innocent in the unforseen destiny 
of the physical and spiritual creation of our birth.  
The arrival on Earth in an isolated universe is but a galactic metaphor; 
a whisper in the ear of our Creator 
is a passing gesture of trust, 
curiousity in a lonely doom-struck existence 
magnified by the super-spiritual creation aura of love; 
pro-creative love of random selection and genetic or communicative waves 
breaking on the long windy sandy shore 
of bubbling radio-active foam.  

The plastic torso of a once-loved "dolly" 
blinks her large round green eyes 
in hope of future recognition and comfort 
from a more loving, and less destructive species.  

The de-fused mortar-bomb sticks its ugly tail out of a barnacled breach, 
dripping with red and magenta rust 
signalling peace to the migrating flock of turtle doves flying overhead.  
The destiny of the convenant lies far beyond the future 
with the two tails of the arctic rainbow many universes apart.

The final link-up may be fused by peace, eternity and understanding happiness.  
The judges have died, 
the sentences innocently served behind closed doors; 
no-one will be guilty anymore as the sun continues to shine and generate energy 
to those lugubrious passing footsteps of sun-setting shadows 
longer than the tallest giants.  

The ghosts of time fear for their spiritual identity 
as the halogen street lights ignite for the last time.