drawkward

The voyage had not gone as planned, They’d found the sea but lost the sand. As air grew thick and thoughts fell dim, Some lonesome devil spoke to him, “The time has come to make a choice. Will you repent? Will you rejoice? You can die here, but with your friends, Or live a life that never ends.” The Faustian beast! So crass, so cruel! Had made a jester of the fool. His friends died first and then his phone. Alas! Poor Yorick, so lost, alone. Though fate would drag him to arctic shores, No souls would greet him and soon he grew bored.

Ages come and eras go, when will they stop? Nobody knows.

As time raged on through was and plague, Old Yorick grew older and misbehaved. Snow angels, ice devils, men seven feet tall. He’d sculpted a kingdom, but soon it would fall. As decades wore on, his island did shrink, And soon, dear fool, Yorick was stuck in the drink. He suddenly realized ho far he could swim, And endless adventures came opened for him. He swam through sunk cities, rode bareback on whales, And came upon Everest, an island of hail. He found there survivors, a family, a bride, But ozone was leaving, and soon they all died.

Eras come and epochs go, when will it stop? Nobody knows.

The last living thing, on this orb, in this space. The sole herald scion! The last of his race. Centuries, millenia, billions of years, Poor Yorick’s future was perfectly clear. The sun loomed so close now, less star and more sky. “A-ha!” Yorick thought, “Once I’m there I will fry!” And so he lived on, now his life had such flavor. When you can lose something, there’s much more to savor. But woe was the day that the Earth met the Sun And Yorick discovered his tale was not done. So lost in the heart of this world made from heat, He tried looking down, but he couldn’t find feet. He tried looking up, but he couldn’t find sky, He’d lost both his arms and he didn’t know why.

Epochs come and eons go, when will it stop? Nobody knows.

This new type of Yorick was not gas nor ether, Energy? Mass? At once both and neither. Both flying and falling, giant and small. This spherical Yorick was having a ball. Suddenly something was calling his name. A cry far more urgent than these silly games. The siren lured all of us, titans and gods. A succubus sucking us into her maw. Friends and companions were crushed and destroyed. Soon little was left but ourselves and the void. As air grew thick and thoughts fell dim, Dear Yorick knew what was expected of him. “Our time seems so short now, but don’t you forget. Despite how it seems, it’s not over—”

Trackback URI | Comments RSS