This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Do not fear the light of the dying star for it will yield no pain.
It is mortal, it is ended.
Fading out like the dimming of the candle, then extinguished, forever.
No light shall ever again grace these barren lands
As dust forever billows across its scarred surface
And drinks its voluptuous seas.
Like a standing ovation,
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Do not look for me, for I am gone.
I am the silent songs of birds, the words
Of ancient etchings scratched off warm stones.
The lone tumbleweed on open sands,
Spreading nothing more across vast lands
And crashing into sparse trees.
I am the breeze on the path that is left behind.
The vacant mind of an elderly man captured
In a photograph. I am the white edge,
The ledge of a pr...

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