My Bedside Eulogy to the Death of the World

As the Frost poem proclaimed,

"Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice."

But I posit a different conclusion,

To the scourge that is humanity:

We will end in grayscale,

Bleached of color,

Only ashen white bones to remain.

/

Only seconds left on the Doomsday Clock,

We'll obliterate ourselves,

And not even know it.

If the righteous shall inherit the kingdom of heaven,

Our spirits will guard this chasm-like purgatory.

We were anything but righteous,

And meek only in our church clothes.

/

We all killed Mother Earth in our selfishness,

Polluting Her oceans, burning Her forests,

Hoarding all Her luxuries,

The diamonds you wear might as well be Her tears.

We filled Her skies with smoke and ash,

And so Her temper rose,

Yet you deny you did anything wrong.

/

I am not innocent

Nor am I saved from the rising waters.

No ark will be able to handle all our inflated egos,

So learn to swim or climb to higher ground.

We will have deserved it,

The ocean feasts upon us,

As it swallows the land,

Preparing its palate for the main course of

Eight billion ungrateful parasites.

/

Our irreversible demise,

Is the joke among the elitists who think

They'll be immune to the tsunami wall

Of humbling heading for them.

A man in Prada sinks just as fast as men in rags,

If only the hot air in your head,

Could fill an air balloon to save you.