I had long thought of it.  The last night here on Earth.  Tonight is the night that the comet is suppose to hit the Pacific ocean.  There had been ads running all over tv, the internet, radio, and on the streets.  The slogan was simple.  " How are you going to spend your last night alive."   On the other side of the Planet the slogan was opposite.     " How are you going to spend your last day alive."  

I decide to spend it with you.  I set up a mattress outside in my backyard and we lay in it and count the stars.  We talk and we talk about the dreams we had last night. We cry together, we laugh together.  We then fall asleep.  This is how I wanted it to be.  Swift and fast while we slept and held each other.  I dreamt of seeing the next morning and waking up with her.  We look to the clear blue sky and smile.  But am I dreaming?  Is this real. Did the world end.  I cannot seem to wake up.

When poets die
It's sad and true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's lair.

Her hair was painfully black and strong enough to end wars with
Her eyes reminded men of the sea
Just as intimidating as intriguing
And she would sing her serenades to the moon
And they would break their necks just to stare at her
This goddess trapped on earth

Poor Medusa
All she wanted was to be loved

if i tried to predict the future
if i gazed into a crystal ball
i would see nothing but my sutures
and hear not a hopeful call

my shipwrecked bones will shatter
my heart will fragment and fall
but through the former and the latter
i'll make sure nobody knows it all