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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Part 1 This is a true story about world’s end, But don’t freak out for it was long ago God’s message must have been garbled That the prophet’s prophecy failed you know. And since those days in fifty eight Such prophecies I now dismiss Quite easily, I know the score, For Bible says no man knows this. In South Dakota, there’s a river meander Called Lower Brule, on Indian land, With twenty-eight sections of grass inside… The Missouri corralled Dad’s cattle brand. Two thousand cattle roamed unbroken land, My summer job to mow and stack Enough grass for food the whole winter… For in its icy grip there’s no way back. Our days were long and we worked hard, New food supplies two hours by car No TV helped to change our view Of what was normal, what bizarre. But how can I communicate the loneliness Of such a life, though it is true day’s works And meals brought us at least a taste Of civilization’s near forgotten perks. Near forty minute drive to nearest farm As well, where lived a girl my age it seems, As soon as I discovered this, though yet unmet, Her aspect soon was fodder for my dreams. This knowledge occasioned visit to her farm Our very next road trip to town for supplies And was she a cute farmer’s daughter With skin smooth as cream and mischievous eyes. Oh let me share how first visit ended, With church invitation on coming Sunday, Which I of course could not refuse Although its denouement was not fun day. How my excitement rose when Sunday came, Drove to their farm to join their ride to town And quite enjoyed the family on the way Embracing warm acceptance like renown. Part 2 Well the Chamberlin church we attended, Was an hour by dirt road from their farm, And the building of non-descript nature That was simple but still had its charm. The church chapel was longer than depth was, With three folk on raised stage also long An accordion, bass drum for rhythm, And harmonica supplements song. We were led by the preacher’s hands waving His drum’s foot pedal gave us a beat, And with instruments played by two women Seemed our little church band was complete. Well the music that day was familiar As we first sang one song and then more Something strange, the time given to music, Growling stomach was hard to ignore. Wooden pews that we sat on were comfy Perhaps two hundred folk in the flock But when music went past forty minutes, I was starting to glare at the clock. I’d been thinking of lunch for some time now But at last singing stops, sermon starts And most saw something strange on the altar With a sense that their path’s off the charts. I can hardly believe the unfolding But the “good news” was end of the world, There were gasps, many tears, and prayers swallowed, As his message from God was unfurled. He invited us all to the altar, A last chance for confession of sin, We’d just days for loans needing repayment To help purge all the evil within. All alone, just a boy, I reflected, As the whole crowd moved up to the stage, Where with great fear they bemoaned this outcome… My choice tough for a man any age. Yes our Christ will return for He promised, That is just why I trust so in Grace, Feel no need to convince God of birthright, In Christ’s love all sin gone without trace. The one Christian perhaps who I see here Was the one who just walked out the door. It felt good stepping out of this melee And God’s justice all I’m looking for. Now I’ve finally come to the best part How the preacher knew World’s End was near For Canaveral’s rockets disgraced man His faith based not in Love but in Fear. Yes, our shooting those holes up in heaven Was now finally causing man’s fall, And our Scientist’s quest for more knowledge, Was just bringing destruction to all. Just a postscript about farmer’s daughter, Couldn’t spend my life focused on sin, For the world in my world has future And with Science and Love man can win. Brian Johnston September 7, 2015
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