"The End" (poem) by Lynn Ungar

Perhaps you’ve held this image in your head since you were young –
the meteor blazing towards earth,
the seismic shock of impact,
a lethal rain of molten rock falling from the sky,
followed by months or years of dusk and winter.

Dinosaurs – gone.
Lush jungles – gone.
Teaming seas – empty.
Billions of years of evolution wiped from the earth.

Only, of course, not.
After all, a paltry 65 million years later,
here we are.

I don’t know what kind of small and scuttling creatures found a way to make it through.
Nor do I know how.
All I know is that there was an explosion of new life the likes of which the world has never seen.

Evolution is the predicate of death.
The sentence is not complete.

The end of the world as you know it is not the end of the world.