The End (or Tribulations at the Final Instant)

Why are we here?
to rise laments for everything that wasn't?
to accept defeat and throw ourselves into the void?
to surrender to grief and tacitly accept fate?

Why are we here?
And if everything ended, everything behind, everything past ...
blind, thoughtless and deaf,
succumbed to the path of hope that will never open.

And we wonder: how did we get to this?
for all yearnings end in failure,
for there is no shelter if there is only storm.

No rage, no sadness, emptiness...
the emptiness of a destroyed whole...

There was a spark once, which eclipsed light itself,
and it was real, for once, like no one ever witnessed.
faded, lost and forgotten, through ages,
late echoes, grasping, holding, denied, unnoticed.

...And we still climb the mountains and mourn,
and still feel small while contemplate the stars,
but even stars die, for everything must die,
there is a beginning, and there will be an end.

Wills break, even the strong ones,
but nothing is so distant that cannot be touched (even in dreams),
time: the slayer, time: the healer.

Senseless, as lost in a neverending mist,
unborn, undead...vengeance, grief, void...
why?.. no meaning, refuse, no waiting,
renounce, no call.

Arrivals, unwanted, rough, belated,
that will come empty, like the dust of lost ages.
The unwary will cling to hope,
the wise will be at peace.

Uncertainty, death, despair, fear, ruin...
days are no longer real, no waiting, void...
no words, no breath, no will... Why are we here?

Why am I here?