The world will end, my friend.

Of that, there can be no doubt.

But the lukewarm breath of ice-cold death isn’t the issue here.

It’s the fear of missing out.

 

Consider this:

 

When comets embed or the sea boils red,

you won’t really care because

you’re already dead.

It’s highly likely (to put it politely),

but wouldn’t you rather be alive, instead?

 

Imagine:

 

Those Sporting winners, or Sunday roast dinners.

Those celebrity saints and political sinners.

 

An entire list that you regretfully missed.

All because your life ended before the last twist.

 

And how about that discovery of a lifetime

(not your lifetime)

that brings mankind together?

Being the one to miss out on that?

‘Worst-Thing-Ever!’

 

Now another proposal for your quiet supposal:

 

When rogue states arise or the aliens arrive,

What if you’re still here, still happy and alive?

 

Picture this:

 

Some blue sky morning,

Still in pyjamas and still yawning.

Eating breakfast and then, without warning…

 

Ka-Boom!

 

But you’ve no idea.

No Hollywood montage to make it all clear.

No front row seats with no friends and no beer.

 

Like a gun being shot,

but with no sequel or plot.

And being alive?

You might as well not.

 

But there is one thing to be said,

about being caught blind as we get out of bed.

 

If we all went together,

with no bluster or blether.

No one would miss out.

No one more special or clever.

 

Instead, we go as one.

 

No religion, but still quite devout.

Cleansed of all our fears,

and, in particular....

 

The fear of missing out.