Window's view of what might become,
Fill my head like water in glass.
The nightmare of an exploding sun,
That freezes earth to a dismal past.
I reminisce things I may miss,
If from orbit this planet does delve.
Shall it be hell, or moments of bliss,
On December 21, two thousand twelve?
Shall our lives end with the world we know,
If the Mayan calendar holds true?
Will mountains high and valleys low,
Be swallowed by seas of blue?
So, continue on in our mundane way,
Living to die and earning a wage?
Or, shall we take pause, reflect and pray,
Stay on the same line, or turn the page?
Will the next page determine our end,
Or , spark a new land for a few to grow?
Does the modern world's fate solely depend,
On the long count made 5000 years ago?