Life’s Icy Dispair Poem by Samuel Whitton

Life scattered around the universe,
it’s rarity, it’s curse.
Constellations of the greatest,
Flicker and bite the dust.

Civilisations clamouring for greatness,
sacrificed to the great mother of all.
Some are few and far between,
out of the frying pan, into the war.

The essence of life makes a canvas for strife,
those that win are pulled straight back in.
Those that survive, postpone their destruction.
Out of the frying pan, into the sun.

The great crucibles die.
The last live unwillingly,
fading into darkness,
fading with the dusk.

Lasting embers, burning out,
like the last hope in the void.

The void is calling out to us; the final destination see,
is nothing more then all our hearts, burning into dust.

When we cannot see, we cannot do.
We cannot see our loved ones too.
Our spirits broken, our souls diminished,
we have nothing we can turn to now.

Our lives are burning in a frozen mist,
the mist is closing around us now.
The world as we have known will end,
the lives we lived will have no meaning.

Our ancestors are forgotten too,
without their light we may as well,
end our lives here and now,
end our lives before the hell.

Without our songs we have no past,
no future, present, no children too,
Our lives are broken, our spirits sundered,
the trees of old, their branches thundered.

We see the lasting light that we have made upon the void,
but this void is black so it shows nothing of our works.

Come on, we tried, our time is now,
embrace the darkness, embrace the cold.
The cold is all, and all is cold.
Loose your foothold, put out the light.