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
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