Supernova Poem by Barry Middleton

To know that death will come to all
should be a consolation to the seasons,
that nature too must deign to fall
at random and bereft of reasons.

For like a man, the sun will dim,
and should our progeny
control that day,
observe the protestation,
I think that he alone might see
the mote of man's divinity.

When all the suns explode,
and god doth laugh
uproarious in her cave,
the slave will turn to welcome death,
the king will have no grave.