The Terminal Poet

He had felt a deep sense of loss during

the past year, as if a part of him were dying,

and so he had stepped up the writing, which gave

him such joy, in an attempt to stifle the sadness.

But even as the words grew, so did the

darkness. He did not realize that it was because

he was a newfound poet in the Age of the Death

of Poetry, finding God as He takes His final breath,

discovering Paradise just as its flora begins to wither

and its ground to sink into the sea, reaching

Nirvana just as eternity begins to collapse

in upon itself. And so he wrote and read and

rhymed with all his heart, always feeling a

vague sense of doom lurking on the edge of

his consciousness, but never realizing that it was

the sound of his soul slowly suffocating as

the vital stanzas were driven from the world

by a spreading plague of apathy.