I know the day the world will end.
I was told by voices from above
like Joan of Arc,
they wouldn't tell me why,
though trust me that I wished to know.
Before you ask,
I've sworn an oath
and all a man has at the end
is honor and his word.
I will say it's not biblical,
no angry god,
or chess game with the devil,
nor war,
disease,
or alien invasion,
and let's just say
that Eliot was wrong,
no whimpers to be heard.
The day itself is set in stone
(a metaphor,
not reference to a calligraphic god)
and I would love to tell you when,
but once again,
that pesky oath stands guard.
A clue should be allowed,
I think,
so I will say there are some things
that you can cease your worrying about,
asteroid,
a mid-east peace,
the end of fossil fuel,
Republican president,
parasites,
and murder hornets.
Sleep well, my friend,
you have a few good nights left.
YOU ARE READING
Conscience and Consciousness
PoetryA collection of poetry highlighting the moral choices we face. Who are we? What makes who we are? Are we good and how can we be better? Are we driven by Fate or are we masters of our own destiny?
