Another prediction of the exact date, and even the precise time,
Of the Apocalypse, now slips away--into the past's thin density.
Unless it actually comes true.  What if it really happens to us all today?
Then the kind of stark and dark entrapped intensity
That I have felt for a while, shall slap down like quick-lime
And cover everyone's golden sun, and darken the birth of day.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Another of the myriads of groups that call themselves Christian,
Forgetting that precious Jesus said: "Love your neighbor as yourself"
And even: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you,
Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them
That despitefully use you, and persecute you;
That ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven."
Led by a man of the Radio Cloth, named Camping,
The lot of them, at the bit are eagerly champing,
Waiting to see the fear on their fellow and sister people's faces
When the dark of death, at last, the light of life out-paces.
These followers of a man show off the shell of their claimed charity:
Reveling in the idea of all the misery
The strike of the end of the world might throw upon many millions, today.
With earthquakes swallowing terrified lives whole,
And ruptured gas-lines erupting gushers of flesh-consuming flame,
And every harried human begging mercy on life and soul,
Calling on God, desperately, by many a different name.
While the dead bodies of the buried unsaved are cast out for shame,
Dead bodies of the saved cast forth for resurrection and glorious lift;
And all of Camping's followers think they, today--in gleeful cheer--
Will smile, while the rest of us will be a frame of faces of mortal fear,
That have no flee-way from this nightmare.  For them a golden dream,
Camping's followers--the faithful--one by one will seem to disappear,
Enjoying the Rapture, as others suffer the rupture of the world's seams.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
So on this day the faithful followers of Camping will be raptured.
The rest of us by desolate desperate box-fate will then be captured.
For five more months, the unsaved will suffer the cracking of doom.
Earthquakes, falling power-lines, great gushing gas-fires,
Marauding gangs, dwindling food, poisoned water, and poisoned air.
Then, many millions will feel my fear, and will sink into my despair.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
When and if Camping's horrors call on us today,
Maybe some will realize the truth so clear,
About how much worse some dying is than other dying.
Now that they face dying in a similar way,
As they pitifully struggle to survive, and desperately pray.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
But what if it doesn't happen today?  Then they can breathe free,
And pass the next five months without pain or fear,
And reasonably expect that well beyond five more months of peace,
They will still be happily here.
But for me, there will be, from now on, fear and pain.
Even though I try hard to milk my moments of whatever joy I can gain.
And I really don't know if five months from now, I will still be here.
I hope so.  I'm struggling to survive.  I want so much to stay alive.
Even with the heavy costs of physical and psychological decline,
And all the pain and sorrow and misery that must be mine.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Many years ago, I was drinking coffee with a group of guys.
The discussion switched to the Apocalypse and if and when it would be.
There were several different religions represented there.
So our talk was lively with all kinds of opinions and every view.
As the time that seemed to slowly go by, in reality flew.
Oh, how full of life I was then!  My life so brightly gleamed.
I sometimes got depressed, but I never felt despair.
I felt only friendliness in the time that flies.
How strong I was then.  And healthy.  How long my future seemed!
Closing time; we had to go.  But as a parting comment, my friend Jim
Said to us all: "The end of the world comes every day, for someone."
Then we all left.  I missed a few of the future gatherings.
Then, when I arrived at one, as we sat talking, I suddenly noticed:
Jim was missing.  I had missed a few of the meetings myself.
It didn't seem to mean much.  But Jim never had missed before.
So I asked if he was sick or something.  It turned out: Something.
"Oh, that's right.  You haven't been here for a while, Michael,"
Said one good friend; "So you don't know.  Jim Garland died."
He had simply gone to bed, and he just died in his sleep.
I felt as if I had been shocked with a stun gun.
Tears welled; my heart felt a sudden painful bite.
Now, I know, it was a good way--maybe the best way--to go.
I wish I could have gone that way myself, instead of this way.
Still, the death of my friend Jim shocked me, and grieved me so.
Each mind is a special, unique miracle and wonderful magic.
Every death, at any age, and however easy, is still tragic--
Each death is an infinite loss of an infinitely valuable person, I know.
I found out then exactly when Jim died; he died the very night
That he had said to everyone:
"The end of the world comes every day, for someone."

==============================
Written by Michael LP, aka MLP
aka PoetWithCancer, aka PWC, aka (thanks to Luna Marie) Mr. Poet
Written on Saturday, May 21, 2011  11:00 am PDT
Written in a waiting room
Copyright (C) 2011 by Michael LP.  All rights reserved
(I still copyright my writings, for my estate)