Life is a dance of Death.
Everything that is, is the building of a corpse.
There will come a time,
Though there be none to witness it,
That even the Galaxy will die.
Just as Death is fore-doomed for all
This Destruction is Inevitable. Unchangeable.
It speeds towards us in both time and space.
Andromeda, chained to her fate, approaches.
There will be no Perseus, no last minute saviour.
The space is vast, and the Collision,
When it comes, will be subtle and terrible.
No direct interaction, no.
A more oblique force, unseen but not unfelt,
Will be the machine of this Doom.
Gravity itself will, after giving Life to the Galaxy,
In its own good time, End it.
Gravity itself will rip apart worlds, and stars, and atoms.
No contact, no butting up against one another,
The Titanic forces, the weighty masses, will suffice.
The Fabric of Reality itself
Will be rent asunder.