when will this land begin to cease,
when will the world at last crumble,
why do the fates not ease the excrutiating unbearable pain
of a dying world in its last light.
why must the inhabitants complain,
why must they try to stop the inevitable,
what will they do when they learn that their time has come
and it is impossible to delay.
what will be left once the apocalypse has ended,
what will remain after the end has come and gone,
will a random passerby be able to discern the violent past
of the lifeless debris?
will this observer stop and mourn,
will the being pause and reflect,
or will this foreign creature begin to wonder of the lifespan
of their own world?
