What happens at the end
When we reach the last bend
When the hills and valleys spread
And become less drastic
When we flat line
When we have reached as high we could reach
And can only grasp
At slipping memories
Is that what we really call peace
That's what I'm told is at the end
We hammer R.I.P into the gravestones of our fallen friends
And leave flowers to aid in their sleep
I mean are we just the sum of our life
Because by myself I know
That I wouldn't add up to anything worth measuring
There is no greatness in me
I am a minuscule dot on a minuscule dot on just a small smear
Of what we call reality
So what is the use of a insignificant being such as me
Questioning the vastness of infinity
It's really absurd actually
I mean I'm not trying to be poor pitiful me
But I am literally nothing
In comparison to the almighty
And there isn't an ounce of greatness in me
That isn't from my king
So what happens at the end?
That's the real question
Some say we cease to be
We try to define life as
How  far our conscience minds can reach.
Then there's those who desperately
Wish that it is a dream
And cling to this fleeting hope till their knuckles turn white
They hope That this pain can't reach beyond the grave
But I am so afraid
That in the act of dreaming they are losing sight of the reality
That peace doesn't lie in the grave
Or carved in the eroding stones in the cemetery
But in the savior that took that stone of death
And rolled it away
That took everything separating us from him
And nailed it on that cross
So that we could run to him
That is what I believe is at the end
A loving father with arms outstretched wide
To embrace his prodigal son