Cymbals crash
Split  open
My eyes catch

the ending of
history.

It isn’t now,
it was long ago.

Everything coated
in amber.

We thought it honey;

it wasn’t sweet,
it was Eternal.

The best of Men had stared at shapes,
forming infinite levels
out of creation.

And so,
if curiosity killed the cat,
animosity had kept it alive.

Yet,
space

or lack thereof
kept us in love.

Too bad it ended.

Too good to last.