Judgment Day

On that final morning, which lasted
for a very long time - some said
for eternity, although there was
no way of knowing - everything
was given a voice. Rocks, stones,
trees, cats, dogs, galaxies, all
were enabled to be heard at last,
to say what had mattered to them.
Bats, nebulae, microbes, star clusters;
all configurations, all assemblages;
and the few sentient creatures, too.
All were allowed to speak. Some
of those who had lived on Earth
had beaten their wives or cheated
on their taxes. Some had been cowardly
in battle and run away. Others had
gone forward, been slain, and been
forgotten. Many had been generous
and good, and were equally forgotten.
Now, even the four plaster walls
and the picture frame spoke up,
saying what they had witnessed.
And the weeds on the battlefield
that were trodden down. All of this
took a long time to get out. Each grain
of sand on the beaches you walked,
when you were a child, spoke up.
Each noticed, in a different way,
how your toes left their marks
in the sand, before the waves
erased them. Everything testified,
everything had an opinion about
what had happened back then.
And gradually, after billions
of years had passed, and billions
of voices had spoken, and still
more billions of witnesses waited
to be heard - God reached out
his hand, and in that instant
everything fell silent. 'As though, '
He decided, 'it had never been.'
And it was so. He looked out
into a great vast emptiness
that had become quiet and still.
And He saw that it was good.

Sunday, May 21, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: creation,eternity,god,judgment
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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Glen Kappy 24 May 2017

jared, so i'm checking out more of your poems and just read this. that catch-all word interesting comes to mind. as in cutting glass, i like how all things are sentient somehow- Now, even the four plaster walls and the picture frame spoke up, saying what they had witnessed. as one who likes quiet, i relate to the conclusion. i wonder what impelled this poem. on things apocalyptic, check out in ph olga cabral's poem, electronic tape found in a bottle (i think i've got the title right) . gk

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