top of page


It’s here.

The Storm rattling on the arrived horizon,

that one we’ve been talking about.

The same revelation St. John saw sweeping in

from his cave

off the green-blue Aegean

and Nostradamus murmured to his scribe;

Some call it the Kali Yuga, the eagle and the condor, the return of Quetzlquatl;

This storm known, dreaded, anticipated

through all history,

that is perhaps history itself,

it’s here.

Like the thunderclaps you hope miss your tent

exposed on the alpine crag

but don’t,

we are in the place of getting wet,

the the white knuckle moment,

holding on

not knowing where the lightning strikes next.

It’s here.

Collapse, that looming truth,

Erosion, endings, and nothing to be done.

An insatiable rumbling

that will have its way -

And we, the unwitting people of prophecy,

Summoned to unteachable courage.

Pretending has been a good friend

on the road to apocalypse.

A worthy promise to the future,

a carefully constructed hope.

But the storm, being here now

will make an enemy of our self-deception,

will shred our hope,

and drown our delusion

in its torrents.

In these days of storms too big for plans,

as the forests burn and late summer smoke

fills the busy streets of our fragile order,

how do we meet the last chapter

and step into our own revelation,

while making a home for our tears?

The Great Story is a circle,

and Revelation implies Genesis.

Step outside this clinging dying normalcy

and dance a jagged lightning jig.

Be the fire burning down this poison forest,

and let the seeds of renewal spill from your mouth.

Set your pen to page and turn your ear to earth.

A new story wants to give you an apple.

77 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All
bottom of page