It could happen

It could happen

At any time.

The setting might be glorious,

Glamorous vistas

And delicious aromas.

The sound of laughter,

Background chatter,

With a musical lilt,

A hint of romance,

A first kiss or a playful dance,

The gentle tinkle of knives

And forks,

A son who fidgets

As his father talks,

And a breaking glass

Is no respecter of class.

A drop of wine can become

A trickle of blood,

A blessing retold,

As a curse,

In an instant

Of mind numbing insanity,

When humanity disappears

Into the silent dance

That follows.

And the dirty gray flakes

Which flutter in the air

In a mockery of

Falling snow,

Are the tattered remains

Of newspaper,

Plaster work, blown to dust

Swatches of clothing

Nobody wants,

Torn into pieces.

Confetti at a funeral,

Thrown, unbearably,

Into the void.

You say that will never happen.

I am far from the hot spots,

My health is good.

And trouble is always

So very far away.

It may haunt my television,

Shake my belief

In free movement,

When terror can

So easily visit a tourist trap,

But it does not stalk me,

Not in an obvious way.

But does anybody ever think

Today will be that day,

When they leave the house,

Step into the street,

Travel by train,

Fly in a plane,

Ride in an automobile,

Or just use their feet,

And yet it still finds them.

Nobody knows

What the day might bring.

How can we be prepared

For the end,

When some of us,

Have barely reached

The beginning.