Church on Doomsday

There is fleeting meaning
in existing as a tiny,
hateful,
selfish being.

Listening entities
are organized endlessly
in rows of seats packed
thousands deep.

Spoken as honey
over the wounds inflicted by life,
words feed their minds
like umbilicus connections
to space and time.
Too numb to open their eyes,
hands held,
they metabolize line after line.

Crumbling humbled egos
that left them incurably blind,
divine by design,
the dopamine prose
made them empathetic and kind.

All is finite, including light,
and maybe even their souls.

When nearing a black hole,
extinguished luminosity is inevitable,
they are told.
Frenzies of powerless panic were soothed
and consoled.

And it happened.
A miraculous sadness
appears and collapses,
and is loved and mourned
by all mankind.
There is mercy in their joy
as they accept that they will die.