The Great Flood

No one knows the day or the hour
but I know that it’s coming in time
When the oceans will fill to the brim
Set to overflow onto land

A great and impending wave looms over the island people

And when it breaks, it stands taller than the oil rigs.
On the ground, red algae would have turned the streets to blood
If that weren’t the streets’ current state

No one will escape the encroaching waters
The rich and the poor will perish alike
The good man and the evil man will likewise fall into darkness
Neither young nor old shall be spared

But the evil man will continue to be evil
And the good man will continue to be good
You might wonder if goodness was worth the stinging in your lungs.
As you gasp under water beside the con man grasping badge and gun

But you will have received your answer while you were alive
And no one will take that answer from your hands
At the end of all things, this will be your sole possession
At the end of all things that disaster has won

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From the Author

I actually write often about the end of the world and calamities the like. I remember growing up around a community that focused on it quite a bit. Many of my peers would confide in me that they were fearful of it all- and I don’t blame them; Revelations is some heavy stuff. But it was never a fearful thing for me. Perhaps I can only say that because I haven’t lived in it (tbd). But here’s the thing…

Everything is awful.

I mean, really, it is. The world is getting hotter as fast as it’s getting colder, and people’s hearts are as cold as they’ve ever been. Finding justice is harder than finding a good therapist, and the same nonesense that has been diving us for thousands of years divides us now. Good people die of poverty while others hoard more than they could ever consume in a hundred lifetimes.

We shed tears and they amount to nothing.

But the end of the world, if you believe it in a biblical sense, reconciles all that. At the end of the world-,all debts are due. At the end of the world, all tears will fall to their respective ends. They’ll be counted. Then they’ll be cashed in for the sake of those that shed them.

At least, that’s what I believe.

This is a poem about the natural ends of the good man’s tears.