Eschaton by Oscar Senn

The end of the world, at the close of the day,
  comes not as holocaust, but a soft melting away

of terrors, and errors, and mad masquerades,
so that who we seem changes as the nightmare fades.

The heart sounds the trumpet and light is reborn
to show us our shadows are all we must mourn,

that this solid seeming we clung to so dear
was but a phantasm disguising our fear.

All physical senses that we humans cherish
burn away in the truth, where only lies perish.

And when we awaken in that last day’s last phase
we’ll blaze there like novae in endless arrays.

In the blink of an instant we’ll know as we’re known
and love will enfold another orphan come home.

At last we’ll prove what creations we are
a singular miracle outshining all stars.

And when we’ve remembered, and illusions have gone,
We’ll all wake eternal in one endless dawn.

Eschaton is a fancy word for “end of the world”

Thank you, Oscar Senn, for your beautiful poem.