This is a poem of... well, you know what? I'm going to retain SOME mystery, even if this one's symbolism is rather obvious, well all but the last piece. Have fun with that! Oh wait, what's that? I've got a TEXT MESSAGE??? Hmmmm... I guess I should reply to my *AHEM* text message *AHEM*..... Seeing as how I do so much with my phone, huh???
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PERSONAL APOCALYPSE
When it all began, the world was empty.
Vast with unlimited possibility, perfect.
Homes were erected, housing individuals,
And between them, roads to connect.
My own home was built on weak ground,
It's walls of mud; wobbly, fragile, weak.
So I followed a road to a builder of skill
Dragging my home, her aid I did seek.
Together our home was sturdy and strong,
But my own home was simply consumed,
And it wasn't until the apocalypse came
I remembered how little I had to exhume.
Our homes separated, both now a wreck,
I cried and I cried, having lost all I had.
I laid in the mud of my now destroyed home
Wondering how anyone could survive something so bad.
It was then with the help of an angel
Who spoke to me through the vibration of my phone
That I realized that my loss was a gain,
And the joy of a clean slate was finally shown.
I laid foundation and planned a new home,
I replaced mud with brick, solid and straight.
And in the center I placed an alabaster pillar;
It had nine numbers upon it: 8398 92632.
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1 comment:
i lurve it!
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