With All the Souls When the End of Time Comes

The material world
Gifts itself your awareness,
And here you are, reading this,

And there you go at some point
Unknown to yourself, unknown
Anymore to creation.

Matter always saves itself,
Loves itself, gathers itself.
Your fate’s immaterial.

Maybe there’s a great black hole
For awarenesses, somewhere,
Somewhere in the unaware

That collects you when you go.
But to what end you could not know.