It's difficult to say when the spring finally ended

The only thing for certain
is that it did end, as we slipped
blissfully unaware, into winter and darkness.

From the highrise apartments in Chicago
to the mud huts baking in the African Sun
From the smiling skulls in the Paris Catacombs
To the open deserts of the great Outback

The wind whispered in the silence
past our giant walls, our empty monuments

past piles of leatherbound books
their pages continually flapping
as if begging to be read, just once more

The hard lines of the cities softened
as the carefully manicured lawns
grew out of check,
turning the skyline green


The human race liked to think we were driving the car
That we were in control
In reality, we were the child in the backseat
with the toy steering wheel

We expected to go out
with an awe-inspiring bang
with a roar of thunder
befitting our importance


Instead (or rather, accurately),
the planet ended silently and without much fuss

a mere footnote in the universe