by Nick Gisburne
The universe is over, obsolete
It curled up in a corner, far away
Instinctively, the gods deny defeat
And make another, one they’d like to stay
Identifying critical mistakes
In all the failed infinities before
More ice, more mountains, not so many lakes
And definitely, never, any war
The galaxies will not be coming back
Enormous, and impossible to clean
The colour? Simple: space is always black
With possibly a hint of gold, or green
A final detail, one design to go
The humans: back in business? It’s a no
