It's121212 Poem by L C Vieira

it's 121212

and I'm still here.
So what?
One more rough day
to put to rest.
Where are the soothsayers now?
The bunker builders
and date changers -
of when all this will end?
Mayan calendar?
Superstition, Fear's propaganda?
Anything to keep us from the One
Who fulfilled prophecies of old
that One would come -
five Ws and How.
No errors. No other One
to prove that long line. Ever.
Two thousand claims foretold.
Exact.
Five hundred more to go
No Google contradictions.
None.
None!
Smug, we call it myth
mocking that unopened book
locking our hearts
from even asking -
'What if...? '

it's 121212
and I'm still here.