The End of It, September 2019

That was the end of it.

We drank the last drops of wine

From the final golden grapes.

We watched the last sunset

On the last romantic beach.

The sky turned to molten lava.

The stars popped out of the sky

One by one.

Ttime and space shriveled up

Like a balloon releasing air.

Tthe angels blew their trumpets

as God played

A magnificent violin sonata.

Finito.

Au revoir.

No regrets, sort of.

The lovers kissed their last hungry kiss.

Gravity dissipated.

DNA unzipped.

Soon we forgot

the human condition, lost all memory

Of animal body or cellular structure.

And yet something intangible lingered

In the uncreated void: a white hole

Where Being was and would be:

The paradoxical fulfillment

Of nobody’s desire.

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