At the End of All Things

At the end of all things, exists the Earth,

exists the universe.

Humanity is gone, like we always should’ve



The world is green and blue,

the towers down,

the houses burned up,

the world finally

at peace.


Without us,

it keeps on,

like we never mattered,

as if we never arrived.

As if we were

stuck in traffic.


The vast,

the utter incomprehensible

universe does not,

has never,

cared about us,

or our money,

or our wars

or children.

It will continue

to exist without them.

We do not matter.


There’s something beautiful,

something kind,

in its apathy.

To be a part of this

salt flat of a cosmos,

where it extends far beyond

what we thought possible.


We have a part to play in

the Earth’s death,

but once we leave the stage,

nobody will applaud or give us roses.

Nobody will be around to do anything.

And the universe will continue,

without us,

like it was always meant to.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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