Heat Death

You are not so lovely as sun or star,

For whatever lying poets say

Those orbs will sputter, fail and die,

One day.

You are not so perfect as precious stone;

Diamond turns to dust, 

Everything passes,

It must. 

A hundred trillion years from now

Expansion carries even light away; 

The last protons quietly wait

For inevitable decay.

When the universe grows cold, dark, silent,

Unimaginably vast,

Know this: there is one thing

That will last.

Perfect gift of perfect God;

Your soul my love, and mine,

They are eternal,

A piece of the divine

David Shipley

January 2021