Poetry

In a stark black pond the world across,

The oil-covered albatross

Sinks into the grimy deep,

And settles into ever-sleep.

And the world will keep on turning.

Across the westernmost frontier,

Blazes burn hell into fears,

And our forests and grasslands disappear.

And the stars will keep on shining.

In deserts in the heart of Earth,

Men with guns assert their worth.

Belief will tear your land apart,

But send to Heaven zealous hearts.

And the space will keep expanding.

The many states will rattle sabres,

Ignoring common people’s labors,

And tell of the blood the other savors.

But the stars, too, will all die.

There are amassing, the hordes of Death,

That steal from lungs the vital breath.

They come from hundreds of rifles raised,

And they come from facts and logic razed.

We try to keep our doors shut tight,

For in the doorway is a light,

Blinding at first, then eternal night.

This is the Hyperdeath we wrought,

From neighbors killed and plastics bought,

From all the hatred that we taught--

We may survive, and we may not.

We are of fear, and hopes and dreams,

We try our best, though the best sometimes seems--

Less than enough to get jobs done.

But what about the everyone?

The hyper-object of population,

State to city to entire nation.

Something not one of us can see,

In its great entirety.

But if just one woman, or one man,

Can see what the other person can--

What if we all sat down to talk?

Perhaps with knowledge, away we’d walk.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

This is a call to action.

This is a story of the extinction on the doorstep.

This is our confrontation with the Hyberobject: what we can see outside, and perhaps on the news, but not in its entirety.

This is a farewell to what we once knew--

Whether we succeed or not.

But, whether or not we stand in victory or defeat,

At the end of this great battle,

Know that in the end...we are just the wet branches of the universe

Expanding into the nothing.