Our ancient bones creak in rusting joints. The muscles knot up and we writhe in our aeon old sleep. The world that we once knew is, but a dream to us. The sky beyond our closed eyes changes colors from black to gray to black again, but we only feel, we do not see.
The things that we were once, we are not those anymore. Like fallen giants, we rot. The world we were promised, never given to us.
So, we wait. We lie dreaming and in this dreaming we wait. We wait for the worlds to end and we wait for time itself to collapse on its feeble legs. We wait for the last winks of the galaxies.
We wait, for the end of Death.
We wait, for the end of this dream.
And when there is nothing, we shall awake.
To create again.
Why are you looking at me like that?