The Voice Fiction Feature – Poetry By…

Apocalyptic Vision

A dream yields an
essence of the past.

Prostrate before
altars where no
one worships

lays the Deity of Man.

This place
belongs to a generation
forged in furnaces that technology
then deconstructed for a better

the end of a man

hides between the pages
of a desiccated book
about sex, love
pain and mystery.

This the vision;

this the future;

this the end.


Elizabeth telephones
to ask how I’m doing so far.
It’s a gift to be in the beam
of Elizabeth’s interest.
There’s something loving
in her way with words.

We walk a
remember when trail.

Elizabeth invites me
in, she understands.

Her prayer is
a spiritual renaissance
touching my spirit:

It breaks free,
soars into a sunlit sky
where broken-nes
passes between us.