And, In The End Poem by Bill Upton

When it's time,
The writers, the poets, the dreamers
Will run out of description
For the beauty and the magic.
Their visions and their wonders
Will all be used up one day,
And there will be nothing left but stardust.

When it's time
Every sunset and moonlight will have been painted,
Every song will have been sung,
Every pounding wave of the surf will be counted.
No joyous moment will come back uncelebrated,
No sadness will be left without tears.
Night and day will appear as one,
The sun in collision with the moon.

At the appointed time that we will not know,
Memories will be the sole survivors.
The writers, the poets, the dreamers
Will have exhausted their oxygen tank supplies,
Unable to dive any deeper.

One day it will be over.
We will close our eyes and remember
What was seen, what was felt,
What was lived.
In the strongest of hues, in the magnificence of emotions,
Within the yin and yang halls of greatness,
We will absorb and be absorbed.

When it is time,
We will take a lifetime breath
Of all the serenity we have experienced,
And we will bow our heads
And begin the journey
Home.