When windows fail
and mirrors who once
bade an affirming nod
now shake a conscience
loose and all reflections
once scraped and bowed
mark a line between
looking at and
through;
When quests and
questions echo not
nor draw an audience
near, but rather fall
flat in front of you
and absent any
cheers;
Take a rest
and your last
breath without
fog or frost or
dew;
Without any calm
or calamitous shows
drawn from people
pets, or pews;
We'll get along fine
by a godless design
to finally be rid of
you