The flames are licking at the open air,
Falling as they tastes what’s theirs,
Straight from God’s living room.
“It’s as they said”
‘Yeah, they certainly called it.’
“You think it’s too late?”
‘It’s never really too late,
Unless night has already fallen about, at least.
Which reminds me:
What time is it anyway?
I’ve been around for too long,
The contrast just starts to average out.
It all feels like dusk.’
“I think you mean dawn,
But you might be onto something there.
There might still be just enough time to get there,
And at least watch.”
‘Might as well,
For an event that only comes once in an existence,
Attendance is kind of expected.’
“Expectations are only expectations because they can not occur,
So why should we fight against the inevitable turning of a machine that’s centuries of millennium up on us?
Just let the rain keep coming,
If only for a little while.
Which is, coincidently,
‘Great attitude there, kid.
Not really the confession you would expect from homo evolutius.
Or are we not there yet?
I see the world through windows,
Which sadly, aren’t postmarked.
My tomorrow is my yesterday’s today.’
” Great attitude, sure enough.
That’s all they can ever say about it.
No one can refute it.
There’s no real argument against pessimism/cynicism/apathy.
Just wishful thinking trying to fill the sails of an ocean liner.”
We’re going down,
Deeper than colors can swim.
Faster than time can keep.
Slid around on top for too long,
With reckless abandon,
It was only a matter of Pèredutemps,
Giving the signal,
The two fingered wave,
Directed at a masked man’s eyes,
Farther than the limits of our imaginations,
Harder than the hopelessness of the Absurd.
The ground is closing in,
Which is to say destiny.
Half a second back:
What’s that blur?