The End

I'm not a poet; I prefer fiction. This just sort of came out. Thank's for stopping by.

But for some reason it fell through,
Like all things fall through,
Because life is fluid,
Nothing will survive to the end of time.
The tallest mountains,
The densest diamonds,
All will be gone by the end.
But is that a bad thing?
Everything we do,
All of our lives,
We spend in worry.
In regret.
Trembling,
Whimpering,
Because we know.
We know our doom,
But not the hour.
We fear the hour.
But I know.
The end of anything,
Is not to be feared,
Nor to be coveted,
The end is just that:
The end.
We fail to see that it is a good thing;
That our strife accumulates to a climax,
And then it is gone,
Without a resolution.
It all ends in relief.