Postcard 105

 

This world will end. Let's not be blithe.

 

This world will end and that would be magnificent to see.

And the universe will cool though that will be so far from now,

but now this world does end, again again again.

The how or what is so far removed from purpose, reason, why.

 

Imagine! You have been selected.

As a ball falls into a random slot, you have been selected.

A panel rises above you, gray and broad and blinking.

It clunks a judgement, an accounting. Yes or no. Clunk.

High logic is at play.

 

And off we go, both chutes the same.

Is there truth? Is there consequence?

You've been selected, furnace tossed, old and rusted, twisted, bent.

Each ounce of carbon heat, of rust -- a billion atoms rent.

 

I assure you that now the seconds are strongly and solemnly accentuated, and each one, as it leaps from the clock, says 'I am life, insupportable, implacable life!'
 

You jump, electron shocked, and you gather and you gather.

And you surge in complexity and your bonds grow strong and stronger.

And a boundary lies before you. You have been selected.

You push through in respiration, random as a ball -- to live or to die, the same chute.

 

Yes, the world will end, and that would be magnificent to see.