Abba Anokk and the Stubborn Pencil

This is my second poem to be posted here. I wrote this on February 22, 2005. I actually have a printed copy on my office drawer. The inspiration for this poem is my inability (not of my own choice) to use modern programming techniques at work. I'm probably the only one who can understand this poem.

In the land of Blast, somewhere near our distant past,
Lived Tong Mangato, oldest of the wise cast.
In the town of Subsequent, where fine days are frequent,
Lived Abba Anokk, bender most stringent.

Two paths have crossed.

Dark clouds form, as thunder grumbles.
Lightning strikes as bull wind squalls.
The Matrix has been opened. Divide by zero divine.
Not still, yet not in motion is Time.

Bright future's a-calling, Abba goes yearning.
Prophecy of five revisited, sixty the magic number.
And so shall famine stay, five more years it may
Before sweet rain creeps out of hiding.
Then the blackhole of thirty-six good Abba shall escape.

Phones go a ringing as printers go a printing.
Abba from his desk awakens with drools a dripping.
Pencil in hand, paper in second.
Escape plan drawn commences at dawn.