The man who looks upon the world he sees,
The rotting books, the sun and leaves and grass,
The man whose soul is one with balmy breeze,
Will love the yellow sun, and will not last.
It is by all agreed this world will fall,
The atheists concede the sun’s collapse,
The end of time is told by one and all,
To every rhyme there comes a final lapse.
The question lies, why write of dying Earth?
Romantic eyes see not what lies above.
Must not the seeker see a thing of worth,
To tell its majesty, and light thereof?
The short, temporal life will soon depart,
Its song, upon the fife will leave the heart.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written January 16, 2007
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