supposedly ends tomorrow.
An imagined apocalyptic devastation
of cities burned to the ground,
shells of what once were bodies
strewn about.
Say the world did end,
do you see in the midst of its gory wake
our destiny --- what's left of you and me?
Perhaps we shall live to tell
how the end of the world was not at all
devastating nor apocalyptic.
Rather a time of punctuation,
a muted gesture of pause,
the all-stopping ---
dreams buried,
desires put to rest.
the falling yet not failing.
Instead, the coming
of triumph's end.
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