VANISHING POINT

VANISHING POINT Does the end of life explode in a blaze of glory Or constantly diminish toward a distant point With few left interested in hearing one’s story And the absence of future days will disappoint The prospect never considered in one’s youth As today and tomorrow seemed to be conjoint I fear the later view is much closer to the truth With each day in doubt of another tomorrow As it feels like being in a fortune teller’s booth Yet there is no need for any sadness or sorrow Who can tell how far away the ending may be And no motivation left to beg steal or borrow Precise timing is of course, very difficult to see As one must concede there’s reduced visibility