The End of the World as We Know It. 

There is the briefest covering of snow
on this day before the end,
a glaze of beauty in a world
that needs to end.

Small drops of color draw your eye,
and you stop in remembrance,
the red berries like drops of blood
on the child white landscape.

Somehow in the midst of madness
all around us, seen on every screen,
our innocence remains,
our belief that we were not made to die

rises with every challenge,
with every sad insanity,
and we stop and remember
what God whispers every day,

what we lose in the din of life,
that every life, every drop of blood
is precious, deserving of love,
mad and maimed allike.

=========================================

Sometimes a poem is like a stew, where you keep tossing things in until you end up with what you end up with. This picture, which I always felt had a poem in it, the Mayan end of the world fantasy, and the recent horror of Sandy Hook have been brewing for days. This isn’t about any of them, but together, they helped me create the poem.

The picture was taken down the road at Consider Bardwell Farm last weekend.