Shelter In The Final Hours Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

remaining are so few
the sands in that ancient
hour glass have turned to a
dusty finery that clings to the
crystal fading the view through
to what precisely is remaining of
earth's time… do not shake it!
When I return… the desert
the dunes, and the reign
will have moved, changed
become rearranged; and so
deranged… the citizens will be
held in chains, the rains will remain
for daze on ends… what the mess that
will become! The surface waters will flow
the winds full of more dust will blow, and the
human population will go or be disappeared!
And as I arise with the next sun, I harness the
power remaining on the first sun. Check out
the stats watch what was gold, turn to black.
And it is I who changes the colours, it is I who
makes the way in the lands, beyond that empty
body… The place where I will make the beyond
there upon hope; witness the rise of the mind!
And shine in that house above the star draped
mountains. Ride with me on the lies of the others.
Walk with me in the footprints that lay before US.
Harness the world's wanting, and head out, to the
highways. There beyond the traffic, in the still of
any new dawn we are blessed with; you will
with me, shelter in the final hours…