THE END

THE END

Roses in the garden
fading to dust
Sky scrapers crumbling
and turning to rust

Streets now grown over
with small trees and vines
Ghosts in those buildings
shimmer and shine

There's no debating
and no talking now
Humans are absent
and so is their plow
None are productive
None to ask how

did this end of things come


Laughter and weeping
things of the past
The sounds of communion
gone in a blast

Our egos all shuttered
Our instincts no more
emotions and intellect
cannot implore

We who were once so
thriving with life
who once kissed the passing son
who once were God's wife
but followed insanity
consumed by its strife

We are all gone to hell


Those children we hated
and burned at the stake
along with their bright light 
that made our souls ache

That light of God's love
and the truth we despised
to cling to our alters
of sweet compromise

Till nothing remains
but the dust and debris
and the refuse of humans
who refused to see
that grace that is offered
will not always be

Love always honors our choice

Words, music & audio recording
© John Brusseau, 3/20/2026