I don't usually post my own poems here, but I wrote this today after hearing the latest Apocalyptic prediction, and since it's all going to end on Saturday, I figured this might be my last chance for it to be read.
Poem for This Saturday's Apocalypse
May 18, 2011
by Scott Owens
Put your things in order.
Say your last farewells.
Make contrition, complete penance.
Say your prayers. Wait.
The signs are unmistakable:
earthquakes, Japanese tsunamis,
Mississippi floods, tornadoes
in the mountains of Tennessee.
The world ends again
this Saturday, the 12th time
in my lifetime. Of course,
the math might be faulty.
The numbers might not add up
and the words -- who can say
what they really say
until the end of days?
One thing only is certain:
one of these days
if we just keep guessing,
someone is bound to be right.
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What a daunting list of labels, and how appropriate! I've always liked your smile, especially when it's visible in your words.
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