Living Sparks In The Dark

I surmise as only poets do. Regrettably, it's a silly prophecy. The world will undoubtedly collide with its own -beginnings then silence shall reign supreme again, I surmise regrettably. There'll be no more singing. Joyous choirs shall be silent. Even Kingdom Halls shall be shrill. With no end or beginning there'll be only- endless time to kill. Endless as a mockingbird, mocking us at his will with his black wingspan stretched across all that we have done right across the entire Rio Grande there'll be a death knell overall, all we have come to understand. On all except that mockingbird- and his living sparks in the dark regenerating like jellyfish in the foam and sand with always something sifting from his left hand. Something cherished lovingly in his right. Beachcombing for something regrettably he deems worthy of polishing in far distant sunlight.