Gravity

What would you do…

If your world were on the verge of its end?

Faced with the fall of sinister moon,

Or the rise of crescendo waves bent

Upon the land now drenched in tears.

Or mightiest of tremors, perhaps violent

Conflagration as all is consumed by

The light of humanity’s dark past.

Even glaciation seems likely.

What would you do…

Would you philosophize Robert Frost

And accept your fate?

Perhaps your mind, the thought hasn’t crossed?

Quaking in fear as you debate

What to even do next

Thinking you can abate

The coming end with thoughts and prayers

To some deity that clearly fulfilled their revelation

That mayhaps some wanted this to end…

Even you wanted it, perhaps…

But you did think about the end,

Did you not?

Dreaming of the world at knife’s edge,

As you stand at the perilous cliffside precipice,

Vision graced with nothing but midnight abyss.

What would you do?

Listening to the grand siren’s call…

Do you tell it to just shut up?

Or are you given some perverted comfort by its song?

I would certainly hope not.

What would you do…

To even clear your conscience

Of this impending doom?

Fulfill your life’s dreams?

Or even seek closure

As you confess your sins to your love.

Would he even reciprocate…

That does seem awfully wholesome

To wait until the last moments

And carry out what you could not before, heh.

But what if the outcome were different?

If you were the sole survivor

Left to fend for himself amongst the ruins…

Nothing for miles but the forlorn dust

Of what once existed, what never was.

It didn’t have to be this way, though.

Having to live with the imprisonment

Of one’s emotions most true

Knowing they are ultimately unrequited.

But this isn’t your style, after all… to remain ever silent.

What would you even do…

If you could faintly affect the outcome?

Construct your Tower of Babel?

Or even take on the manifestation of Nyx?

Find a way to make things whole

As you ask the pantheon for a reroll

On your wishes to see the world fold

Over to the next page of its dusty tome.

After all, you didn’t want to live

On this planet anymore, did you?

What will you do…?

When you are but minutes to midnight?

Hearing the clock tick ticking away

Counting down the seconds to the end.

Perhaps best is peace as the malformed

Beasts of creation succumb to madness.

And in that great panic, you and him can hold still

And silent knowing that the outcome is the same

And the relief that brings, knowing it matters not.

But… was it all for naught?