Last night I prayed to God, in my bed.
Something I do, perhaps not often enough.
Something I read, so filled me with dread.
March 9, 2016: they say the world will begin to end.
The arrival of Planet X, Nebiru, wormwood.
Bringing, in its wake, rapid climate change.
Ocean tides will rise, flooding coastal states.
Poles will shift, 10 degrees, changing Earth’s orbit for good.
Earthquakes, Tsunamis, Martial law, Mass panic,
The Government, 1%, all safe in their bunkers.
Bunkers which have already been erected.
Death of billions, unaware, a worldly Titanic.
I questioned myself: Am I ready to die?
Thought of the works of Sartre, Camus, Schopenhauer.
To them these thoughts would be trivial, absurd even.
Yet I still wonder, what kind of man am I?
So much of my life still worth living.
So much purpose, my dreams, unfulfilled.
So many wrongs I have committed.
So many things to be forgiven.
Yet Sartre would say, a whisper in my ear,
Do not hold yourself to morals, these constructs of men.
Camus would tell me that death is the only constant,
Schopenhauer says deaths already here.
So the fear passes, worried thoughts subside.
I know if need be, I am ready to die.
-Peter Brindley
An Art Collective 