Earth will end on a Sunday.
The
sun will have had its best days behind...
The
moon, long retired, makes wax figurines.
So
we are all stars.
Nothing
disappears without direction,
even
inside itself.
Concentrate.
The
ethereal essence is growing without us.
Earth,
like a sponge, porous
we
take it all in until full
dripping
with light.
And
just like deja vu, we knew
Earth
will end on a Sunday.
Drawing (pen, ink, graphite) by William Blake [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons. The great red dragon and the woman clothed with the sun.
