Forever, Nothing Grows Poem by James Walter Orr

Another year has wound itself
Upon our spool of life.
Reserves, once stored upon the shelf,
Have fallen to the knife.

What can we do to spare ourselves?
We see the shelf grow bare.
Increasing sparseness of the shelves
Makes what is left, more rare.

How shall we go when we do go?
How long shall we remain?
Will on our path, the flowers grow?
Will we be free from pain?

Some cataclysmic clap of time
May rend our very space,
As nothingness pervades the prime,
And nothing leaves a trace.

How shall I go when I do go?
Where shall our hearts abide?
With nothing there, will nothing show,
That all but nothing died?