Tomorrow

The clouds are beginning to align
In a dark gray, rumbling tumult;
A tempest shall soon be here.

The masses ignore the heavens,
Their God tells them of nothing but bliss,
And yet, one man stirs and screams
About the reckoning lying just on the horizon.

His cries were met with disbelief,
His tears of despondency, ridicule.
They wouldn't hear a word he said,
So he starts work on a makeshift ship, himself.

The storm rears its grotesque head,
The people all bury their heads in the sand;
As a solitary man hastily hammers away,
Hoping that his convictions may save him.

In desperation, they herd around their last hope,
The one they had, several minutes ago, mocked;
Asking him what they could do to bring their salvation.
The man only laughed and threw his hammer to the sky, a final symbol of futility.

The rain poured for days and days and days,
And the water engulfed the world, an aqueous Pandora's box,
The one where everything was "just wonderful".

Author's Note

11/1/08