All Things
One day,
all things
will fade away.
The air grows heavy
with heat and fate,
then crumbles and falls.
Mountains lift
their entrenched souls,
letting slip a foothold,
steady since birth.
They lose
their mighty embrace
with the heaving earth.
Seas boil and drown
in a final countdown
of azure crimson beauty.
Fire drips with blood
and rains up
into swirling skies
that unfold
into clouds forged
with unforgiving cold.
The night catches fire
and burns into day.
And the day melts away
under a dieing sun
doomed to fail;
a final nuclear inhale;
an eternal sunset.
Time crumbles down,
like fine dust,
sifting through
the decaying hallways
and aging columns of rust,
into the wormholes of space.
And space condenses,
and radiates
burning chills,
then evaporates.
Stars lay
on their death bed,
shooting dimming arrow-heads,
that chase the scraps of light
still left undead.
And each sun
goes to sleep;
lights off, one by one.
Hushed whispers of galaxies.
Whimpers of dissipating souls
in their spiraling falls.
Voids and skies
collide and forfeit their ties
to drift away
into rifts of stillness.
Nothing escapes.
Not even the mute voice
of silence,
for it too breaks down
into the nothingness
of forgetfulness.
All the knowledge and
shining memories
seep, like fire-consumed ghosts,
through the cracks of time
deep into emptiness.
All the pride and glory,
in a shameful pause,
set down
in a last repose.
It seems as though
fate has decided
to put life
on death row.
And in a departing wail,
all things fail
and fade away,
on that fateful day.
And nothing dares to stay;
nothing stands to defy
the mandate of fate,
but a mental picture of you,
refusing to die,
in my vanishing eye.
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