Sleep Poem by Shirow Walker

When the day is done,
when all lights have gone and every one is too.
What are we left with?
Ourselves?
Our Memories?
Our possessions?
Even those are no good when we sleep our eternal sleep.
Neither are friends,
nor family members,
nor the light of day,
or the product of our hands.
Even the warm comfort of our body has perished.
When the bliss of our ignorance finally pays its dues,
and the rock,
that day,
we never wanted to see come, is upon us at last,
What will you say 'I did not know'
You knew and did nothing,
and that shall be your condemnation,
your pride.