Apocalypse

Endtimes

            (daytime, nightime)

End isn’t real,

            Only a state

Listlessly and lawlessly,

            We travel upon.

Paintings are awakened,

            Leaky tendrils

Lure me in,

            Make me play a part.

Bangs are loud,

            But the silent

Cosmic plan of boastful

Destiny is what

We will remember

            Sleeping; letting go

Of the concept

            Of waiting.

Which pet do you choose?

            They ask:

Love,

            Or loss?

But I choose the garden,

            A home to all.

Who will you be, 

            In the bombastic dark?