The Writing on the Wall

some day
my little world
will be broken
into shards.
my poems -
the many songs
of my heart;
my pictures -
a scrapbook of moments
from another world
I flitted into and out;
my music -
wings that lift me
in an instant,
severing all tethers,
into that endless source;
my books -
life lessons learned
from stories lived
behind doors I never saw;
they will all be gone.

some day not so far away,
everything I create, love,
hold on to, dream of,
or feel is a part of me,
will be gone,
just like the earth
and the sun,
which we try
so hard to save,
just so we can live on;
they will all be gone.

some day this little world
will be broken into shards,
and there will be no one
to pick up the orts
left behind
by hungry pilgrims
who seek permanence
in an anthology of indulgence,
worship their tangible trace,
blind to the writing on the wall.
They will all be gone.