And God Said: "Let There Be No Light."
In a booming, multi-understoodAnnouncement,
God, to the whole world,
Without a hint of denouncement,
Just told us all
To refrain from smoking
For one minute.
He wasn't joking.
"One minute: from
Eleven to eleven-o-one G. M. T.
Tomorrow." He gave no reason:
He just said: "Do it for me."
"However, if one person
Takes just one inhalement,
I'll send your world
Into derailment:
One cigarette,
One sniff of nicotine bonfire-stick
And I'll end it all.
It will be painless and quick;
No queuing for judgement;
You'll go straight
To your
Afterlife fate."
"(Unless
I decide
That there is nothing
After you've died.)"
"There will be one extra minute
(To eleven-o-two)
So that
You
Can think, chat,
Ponder
About what's left of the present
Or what's beyonder."
("Also, note the playing with words
Of the time of eleven:
A mixture of what might be next:
Hell or Heaven.")
The time approached
And The Great Extinguishing
(As it was never able to be recorded in the history books)
Took place along with The Great wishing,
The Great Hoping,
The Great Praying,
And The Great Finger-Crossing
Against The Great Slaying.
The reason given,
In the time just after The Great Disobey
For having lit up during The Great Smokeless,
Was that they
Had thought
That there was bound to be
Someone else who would smoke
"So why should it be me
Who
Didn't get
His last
Cigarette?"
I am near to the end of that minute
And looking back at events
Of the past, of now:
Witnessing the resents
Within and around.
In the journalised articles
That would have emerged
If we hadn't all been turned into particles
Of no longer:
There would have been newspapers filled
With settled scores,
Of people killed
In a last, desperate attempt
At giving meaning
To life:
Instead, demeaning
And destroying
The about-to-be-destroyed.
I wish that I could be there, just for an extra minute,
To see God annoyed.
The last few seconds are here
And there is still mayhem:
Animosity and hatred in final burn
In a frenzy of "Slay them."
Others are waiting
In their own quiet
And cannot be touched
By the riot.
The last moment is here
And I have no time before the dark
To finish this,
To leave my
13:09, Thu. 23/10/2008.
Poetry by Mark J. Wood
Read 1080 times
Written on 2008-10-23 at 14:23
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