Back before life, there was only sound
Of primordial ooze sloshing around
It was a beautiful song that no one could hear
So the ooze grew a body, a head and an ear
The ear heard the sound and body started to sing
Of the meaning of life and the joys it would bring
You see the meaning of life is not love or hate
It’s all of the music that the universe would make
With a body came arms then legs and some hands
And the body started drumming on rocks and sand
First it made a beat then a rhythm and song
And soon others came to dance and play along
So what started life, who was there the first day
It was the primordial ooze and the music it played

I am from everything I have been exposed to.
I am from an unexpected birth,
one month too early.
I am from a truly loving mother and father,
forming a strong bond.
I am from those countless decadent holiday dinners 
 and breakfasts spent with
cheerful family members,
the aroma of Andes candy and
other treats being prepared.
I am from the crinkling of crisp gifts being opened
and the iridescent faces
of my cousins soon after,
happiness enveloping the room.

I am from the feeling of

Doom and gloom
predicted many days,
many ways of
Earth’s apocalyptic end
mistakenly foretold,
end of days a joke
except to those
eager for the Rapture,
certain of their self-righteous salvation.

But what of us who doubt,
those with reservations,
but not the kind
assuring front row seats
for this final act,
this last dramatic scene of humanity’s
anticipated annihilation?

What if it’s just not so?
What if it’s just one more false prophecy?
What if the show is not a tragedy,
but a Divine Comedy
with a place for every one?
What if the last judgment is just the end
of us judging each other?

Some endings are happy.

When the focus for this issue appeared in my inbox I was perplexed.
What could I possibly add to the plethora of books, articles, musings, hype, movies, etc.
that are flooding the planet regarding 2012? As I gave it more thought all I could come up with
was 2012 - between 2011 and 2013. To be sure there will be endless commentaries which will
continue through the end of this year and into next until we arrive mid-summer where we will
begin the evaluation on the predictions and meanings of this historic time. And that is a truth;
it is an historic time. My more serious idea was

My shadow has long been lost among those of the oak and sycamore,
and now I walk alone.
Each step I take is in synchronized rhythm with a heartbeat,
most thought long dead.
My foot prints in the snowfall lie undisturbed until they die with the season,
along with the memories they held for me.
It all drifts away, silent and alone, hidden beneath the trees
Photographs can be more painful than a cross and nails,
but yet, My hand stops short of dropping them into the flame.
Hidden away with me, those memories will kill me,
but still I cannot bare to look away.

Stormy winds are blowing all around
But I feel my feet glued to the ground
My train comes in, and I’ve got my ticket
But it leaves before I arrive

I’ve got a decision to make and paths to walk
People slow me down with idle talk
And when I find the gates of dawn
They are locked in front of me, I am trapped in the darkest night