Armageddon Stroll We walk through the ruins Of the apocalyptic tableaux. Neither goat nor sheep, We do not know If either lover has room in Their heaven or hell For our friendship. Darkling God and Fallen Proud Walk hand in hand, A lovers' spat Patched up At the cost of a world. Will either now need Our consolation? Will the two begin anew With a Genesis of promise, Or will pride prove stronger Than hope and love? We cannot know For we are discarded friends now At home in outer darkness. Age old story of discarded tools - Tales of love rarely speak Of the walking wounded Left by the wayside Of Love's quarrel, Friends and seconds offered up As Cupid's sacrifice. Perhaps we will see atonement, Renewed again In the regard of the reborn couple. Rarely though is the wound in the side Healed without scar Or painful knowing. copyright 4 July 2000 by Earle B. 'Glas' Durboraw; Birmingham.