Out of Focus at the End of Time

At the end of time, when reality
Is ripped and flung aside as the flimsy
Tissue of ephemera that it always was
As the deep oceans tremble fearfully

As the skies, and the universe itself
Thunder in the agonies of their deaths
And poor mankind is faced in fear at last
With that true Vision all unknowable

The last sound in this created world will be
The rattle of collapsing selfie sticks