In the beginning, it was already the end
Ash fell from the fire of creation, and covered us whole
When the ash touched the earth, we were born from mud and stone
To gaze in wonder upon gaia, before we must go
It’s a sad story, that ends before it begins.
The last page is already written, in blood soaked pulp
The rest is up to you, to define what’s bound within
To carry your own head to your personal guillotine
Grit your teeth and endure, the unendurable
The obstacles that are meant to break you
Take the lashings with a smile, hell ask for more
That last page is already written, why not enjoy it all
Even the horrid, unspeakable acts that destroy eyes
Making oaks wilt like dying flowers, bringing on drought
Smile, and take it in stride with dirt stained toes
That smile can make impossibilities arise.
Lazy days writing poetry, it's not all so bad after all.