Life ends with a rush of air, dust and fire
spreading everywhere from the bone loud
solar re-creations. And perched in imagination I see
the scurrying multitudes lose hope
as anticipatory fear manifests in wails. Silent
charred concrete remains, and smoke rises alone.

Will we instead fade away, cosmically alone?
Our searching probes met with uninhabited cold fire
stars, our SETI projects so carefully tended silent?
I can feel the raging might of our species' scream out loud,
“HERE WE ARE!” its brashness equaled by its hope
of a responding call. Those brave explorers set out to see

A teeming universe, and are met with a sterile sea
Of vacant planets; their footprints left remain alone.
The last of us mirrors the entropy’s hopelessness.
We return to dust, again, without the brilliant fire.
Either by the roaring screams of our own loud
destruction, or the tread of time's silent

crumbling hand, it seems everything will be silent.
As quiet as the first flames we were able to see;
The stunned gasp of awe stark loud
against stopped white noise as Prometheus enters alone
brandishing potential, inciting inner fire,
our lit imagination now allowing hope.

But will that flame be met with Hope's
final cumulated desire; the satisfied silent
achievement peacefully watching the fire
shrink to embers? Or will that light burn to see
no end to change and betterment? So alone
yet searching for anyone to share in loud

celebration. I wander about these possibly loud
endings, and allow imagination to guide my hope,
our greatness will exist even if alone!
I'll rage as one of us, shouting out against the silence,
not hindered by the visions of “might be” that I see,
but following instead the promised dormant fire.

Let fire rush loud through my blood,
to see through hope no end at all,
but a growth together; not silent, not alone.

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