In the End

Time eats away at us like termites Carpenter ants burrowing tunnels Bite by bite Nibble by nibble We weather as a wooden barn exposed to the elements The paint begins to bubble peel and flake Rain soaks in and we rot rendering us fragile regardless of how much one was celebrated cameras constantly flashing like a lightning storm when they walked down the street wearing a suit of smooth, supple skin Loved now only by the few sincere in their affections who care for their soul and not merely the flesh that contains it In fifty years a heartbeat in history like old films they are forgotten No longer part of culture’s collective consciousness though occasionally someone may ponder, “Whatever happened to him?” Dust like the rest of us in the end