End Of The Day Poem by Alan Bruce Thompson

The final beams of the setting sun flashed their light,
Just as the shadows heralded the oncoming of night.

Those final beams sharpened into rays,
That silently warned of the end of days.

What have we done to God's glistening land?
What can we do now to stay his hand?

Why did we think the world was ours?
Can we change events in these final hours?

It's not simply that we kneel down to pray,
That will not stay the end, only permit delay.

We can't pretend our destruction can be undone,
The responsibility to repair is ours, ours alone!

We must learn again to value people not money,
Reject the golden calf, back to the land of milk and honey.

For our reacceptance by Nature will be by Gods grace,
We must restore the damage we've done, this is Their place.