The Apocalypse

An abundance of water dresses our coats,
For while the clouds do rage on the boats
My accusation is similar to intelligence
On the limited number of sailors of no importance.
My fearsome nature carried power on the ships
I antagonise, and they shall suffer an extraordinary apocalypse.
For they hurt my sailing and mission,
Toads of a bursting abdomen,
Bellies of wine and apish quality,
Endangered by triviality.
A chopping sea empties its contents
To the boats blessed by comments.
Our ships waste the dress of admirals
Their bellies are big, even need funerals.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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