The Last Day by Graeme Brasher
If this was the last day
How would it end:
Mass hysteria, pious reflection
Or hedonistic revenge?
I would find my loved ones, as I could,
First and gaze in each pair of eyes,
Memorize every lineament, tips
Trace each contour of each face.
Then I would find my favourite poems
And if they’d let me, hold in turn each pair of hands,
Drop each word clear and slow one last time.
And as we listened in our clutches
We would remember the others
Who had preceded us and join
The circle of their memories around us
Like druids place rocks.
And as the sun sank, at one point some second
Would refract through our prism
All the joys that would be lost.
Till the end came in whichever form it must
And we’d close our eyes on the world
And clench each other into dust.