These are the dying times, that is the passing away,
of all your coming to bes, and all your growth is decay.
These are the moments of light's slow deflickering,
from snapshot of genius to slurred imitation.
These are the places to where your souls go,
when from the grains of the body, there is no more motion.
These are the ages, of conflict and bickering,
Where what was always known, we no longer know.
These are the dying times, when powers are fading,
When out on the vast dark sea, you enter, wading,
And feel it's tide rise and fall, ebb and flow,
Until, with mercy on your minds, to your final rest you go.