What If?

What if:

the world swallowed itself;

tallest mountains crumbled;

vastest oceans dried;

ethereal steppes descended

into a weightless void.

What if:

the world

—home

imploded;

glamor faded, fires engulfed: hope:

into asphyxiation.

Would the phoenix rise

from its ashes?

Or perish combusted?

Would the creature recover

from its deep slumber?

Or expire in its dreams?

Would the light that

once shone

preserve its buoyant hues?

Would it

faint...

afar and unacknowledged,

alone?

And what of we,

bastions of morality.

Would the hammer of punishment

crush us irreparably?—

Would we learn to

expiate our guilt,

repair our error,

before the last dawn?

—

The end of a world

is the end

of a vision.

The eye that sees glory

is doomed to see decay;

the impetuous empire of confidence

now stands sickly and still.

Victories once praised with fanfare,

now mourned as great mistakes,

their wounds ripped open

by the new winds.

A newborn vision proceeds;

from love, grief, necessity.

New philosophies emerge

from the ruins of time.

What if: they help us—endure?

What if: they follow—in their precursors' shadows?

What if: what if—what if?