i can easily imagine the end of the world unending.

world stops worlding, war carries on oblivious.

 i can imagine for some it would be easier in the end, to end, rather than this endless ending.

i can imagine for some of us it makes it easier to imagine the true end to keep on. but it just keeps on going on and we're not getting off. well, sometimes we get off.

 some of us were born with a tragic sense of life, in anticipation, or innate. 

 and with the tragic sense of life a tragic sense of love, but yet, a love of life that is deathless.

life we know now is provisional, no future, no past, no utopia no eden, no man-made ornamental garden of utopian order, man is the sower of war in the garden of memory, the decimator of the land, the ignorant fire, the promise.