ECO ECHOES 186
This is the trap door day,
As predicted
By patriarchs
And old parchments found
rolled and ribbon bound in ancient handwoven baskets.
Doors of the earth will
spring open and become mouths
To swallow all
civilizations and primitives not known,
And for security sake then
covered the earth with fire and brimstone.
This event sometime today
will be known,
Although there will be
none to know, as the END OF THE WORLD.
Everything and everyone
will sink into darkness.
The only light will be a repletion
of one of Nero’s public poetry reading
When bodies were burned to
supply light for the artistic occasion.
But no poetry will be
read.
It was all predicted by
these well-wrought documents in ill-wrought baskets.
So to get a last glimpse
of the extended, enamel, abstract designs of fiddler crabs claws,
I went out at dawn to a
salt flat.
I found a white water
puddle that reflected the early morning sun.
The puddle had turned this
pastel orange reflected sun, known to be round,
Into an oval.
The sun being an oval
rather than a circle gave me some hope.
I decided to spend the
time before the trap doors opened everywhere
Writing an epic
On how in reality Ulysses
did not want to return home to his duty,
To be a slave mentality, a
governor of people, a husband to a wife,
A father to a son, a
murderer of suitors.
He tried every means to
avoid returning to be a slave mentality again.
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