Just like the sun
By Parson Thru
Lying in this field in June's evening light
I think about three things:
how we're born, how we die, and
about the sun that burns my face;
how these things all came to be.
Like me, the sun was born
and on some distant day must die.
I try to visualise this space
filled with nothingness.
An absence of everything that ever was
or could be.
For the universe lives on,
the elements still drifting in the galaxy.
All that's gone is you and me,
everything we knew
and somewhere in my head, a song.
From gravity and mass, from hydrogen
in clouds of gas, from these and more we're born.
And into them we'll atrophy,
moving back to nothingness
as though we'd never been.
Just like the sun.