When a poet's mind is perfectly equipped for its work, it is constantly amalgamating disparate experiences. - T. S. Eliot

This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet — and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

Light Light The visible reminder of Invisible Light.