Everything Has An End
Light waves and bends.
Comes from the sun, reaches its object.
Lo, it ends.
(its start to other aims the subject for another poem).
You know what I’m talking ‘bout.
A teeny, microscopic lout
Which at the moment rules our days -
It will not always,
But die out.
Once it’s found a final project
To project its deadly darts at.
Where things go
When they appear to disappear
We do not know,
Can only guess and speculate,
A date out of the question.
All we know is all things end:
The bending light, day, night,
Even the alphabet, A to Z,
There still a further mystery
And further question:
Which came first, the egg or chicken,
Cause where, when
Or even why?
The keys lie in philosophy,
Material, its -ality.
And so we end with unclear hope
That we can cope until the finish;
That the crash is but a hyperbolic gnashing
Of the teeth that brandishes its blemished face