A symphony for the singularity

 

At the dark end

of the street of time

the universe busks

carnival songs

to the swirling

clouds of darkness

that descend.

 

As the ringmaster

spins the last

of the plates

of day.

Letting

it wobble.

 

Before

 

Falling.

 

And crashing.

 

Breaking into fragments

and blowing away.

 

And when you

close your eyes

do you sometimes hear

the clashing of cymbals?

As symbols draw themselves

in archaic script on the

canvas of your mind.

 

If so,

then maybe

it has seen into you.

Hollowed.

Clawing at the

unspooling walls

in the interstitial void,

between yesterday

and the day forward.

 

And as it all fades to black,

A haunting melody,

a harpsichord

churning your

every

memory.

 

The being at the

end of time.

His swirling eyes,

looking deeply

into the cosmic stew,

his view,

a thousand planets

colliding.

 

The cataclysmic collapse

of all the atoms of this cosmos

into one singularity.

 

And you

 

just a dust speck

in the eyes of madness.

 

As silence falls.