Number 8: A Poem

It would be nice if time was allotted

to prepare for the end of a world.


If you had time, you’d pack a backpack

With your toughness and durability,

And an assortment of comforting snacks.

You would take time to put on your armor

To strap your empathy and also your suspicion to your belt

Like weapons to keep you safe.


And you might get a lockbox

For your emotionalism, sentimentality, and attachment.

Because you know that such things

Will only be liabilities

during the end.


You won’t be needing them

Among the carnage of what used to be.


But this is never how the world ends.


The world ends on days when you have woken up to sunshine.

When there has been no dark cloud on the horizon

no warning hint of smoke on the air.


The end of the world arrives when you have sauntered through your wide front door

Into a bright new day

your heart on your sleeve

and your spirit perched jauntily on your hat.


And then…All of a sudden

It happens.


Plates shift


You stumble

buildings fall

no longer tall

no longer proud

it is loud

and dark

and you





And you are left

looking at the remnants

Of what once was

And wondering




Happened. ♥


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