The light’s gone out. The stars have ceased
To shine their brightness round the space they’d leased,
While every world’s waned to dust
Beneath the weight of eons glazed with rust.
Yet here we sit, with tea grown cold,
Upon some plane beyond temporal gold,
Afraid to drain the final drops
And see beyond when clockwork’s stirring stops.
This poem imagines the end of the universe, when all the energy of all the stars has dissipated, and everything fades to nothing. If any living thing remains at that point, I expect they'd wonder what comes next - what will wait beyond the end - but I also expect they'd be a little afraid of how their existence might change, or end, or continue in some unknown way. To a lesser extent, I suppose it's similar to the uncertainty we feel every day, unsure of what new turns our paths will take.
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