And, in the flash of a sparrow's heartbeat,
He is gone.
Did tomorrow ever save itself for him,
And is now left to die alone?
Or was tomorrow never born for him,
And only grew inside our minds?
Was our yesterday always all we had,
Or we sabotaged by fate?
And was this as random as we were led to believe,
Or did an arbitrary and spiteful God ordain such a travesty?
And into what consideration must this necessarily lead?
But once the last ripple of thunder has died away,
Answers are silent, and stand, like us,
In the wake of hysteria.