The Last Day

(Through a Glass Darkly by Rich Tatum)

When the last day comes

A ploughman in Europe will look over his shoulder

And see the hard furrows of earth

Finally behind him, he will watch his shadow

Run back into his spine.

It will be morning

For the first time, and the long night

Will be seen for what it is,

A black flag trembling in the sunlight.

On the last day

Our stories will be rewritten

Each from the end,

And each will end the same;

You will hear the fields and rivers clap

And under the trees

Old bones

Will cover themselves with flesh;

Spears, bullets, will pluck themselves

From wounds already healed,

Women will clasp their sons as men

And men will look

Into their palms and find them empty;

There will be time

For us to say the right things at last,

To look into our enemy's face

And see ourselves,

Forgiven now, before the books flower in flames,

The mirrors return our faces,

And everything is stripped from us,

Even our names.

~Kevin Hart