It is the Eve of Destruction
And Man hardly holds his breath,
He ignores the warning tingles
In his toes, the sharp /twinge inside his nose
He overrides that breathless feelingi n his gut
Because he is too busy making his next buck.
Too comfortable in his king-sized bed,
Too busy inside his head to notice warning signs
Erupting all around to be laying plans ahead,
Not seing the shadow climb into his bed.
Too busy is he now to stop the cannons’ run,
He calls out the reserve of warning words
But the border now is about to be over run,
And too busy to get in shape are the nerds.
The children know not why their adults are partying
Avoiding news, arguing
They feel the tingles of the oncoming doom,
They shiver despite the heat in their room.
For now it is the eve of Destruction
The hail of fire out of Hell is about to fall upon our heads
We will never see it coming, we’re far too busy
Having fun and rolling togetherin our beds
And so the shadow figure walks into the light
He carries guns and hauls his cannons
And so the world well may end,
And we will die, not with a bang,
But with a pathetic whimper,
With our pants hanging down,
Filled with regret we didn’t bother
To read the signs of death
On the eve of destruction,
—Written before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Jan. 18, 2022.
Image by Pixabay
