In the last days scoffers will come . . . They will say, “Where is this ‘coming’ he promised? Ever since our ancestors died, everything goes on as it has since the beginning of creation.”
2 Peter 3:3-4
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.
So it seems.
But they again reset the doomsday clock. It’s now 89 seconds to midnight, one second closer than before. It’s the closest the clock has been to midnight in its 78-year history. The new clock time, we are told, signals that the world is on a course of unprecedented risk, and that continuing on the current path is a form of madness.
One second madder.
Yes, but we shall barrel on, white knuckled, our souls shrill with maniacal fervor. We can’t help ourselves. We pluck the plastic fruits from trees cultivated from that one whose first harvest inevitably led us here, to this broad avenue of the world
which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams,
So various, so beautiful, so new
believing—because we must—that this is the everlasting kingdom, our hands clamped over our ears to silence the voice that cries
“All flesh is grass
And all its glory is like the flower of the field”
hoping against hope that tomorrow follows tomorrow without end and praying against the shadow that haunts us, that one day, perhaps soon,
tomorrow will never come.
