My gaze seems ever on the future fixed
and all I see is horror-filled and black.
I would not live, such horror in our midst
and all the world derailed, far off the track.
I cannot pull my fevered vision free
of that which 'fore me hideously looms.
There seems no end to visions that I see
nor limits to cascading, awful dooms.
Repetition and cacophony lie
as blankets smothering my eyes' torments,
while corruscating flames, a fun'ral pyre,
surround my thoughts a harsh, confining fence.
My eyes are never free of sights of doom.
I'm filled with ever growing certainty.
Within my soul i harbor no more room.
That which I see will be the end of me.