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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


Eight hundred years from now
an asteroid as big as a mountain
has one chance in three hundred
of striking earth.
I pull the blankets over my head.
I, who shall never die,
must face the inevitable.
The planets will do me in.

A driver will scratch his nose
and run over me.
A plague,
one chance in a thousand
will leave me wasted in a ditch.
A robber will take my purse
and life,
for the hell of it.
I am lost.
I am unsaved.

My pact with the Devil
is written in sand.
A wave will wipe it from the beach.
My immortality is measured by chance,
by fire and flood,
the droppings of the universe.
So I am making peace with the world.
No one can live forever.
We all exit.
To imagine my death is unimaginable,
but c’est la vie, inevitable.

Live it up!
Be kind to everyone!
Destroy them with kindness.
Be honest.
Show the world
how to live dangerously.
Be good.
Be beautiful.
Death is another face in the mirror.
Kiss yourself
and kiss your neighbor.
It is the least you can do
being doomed.
It is,
a way to get even with fate.

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