art apropos

What if the wheels stopped turning
        on an angry slope,
But there was no deathly plummet,
        just a gentle exhale?
What if the madness ran out
    with grains of an hourglass,
And the ticking stopped,
    not in a jolt,
        but gently like sleep?
Would we feel weightless?
    Fall, without knowing
         which way was up,
Or would eternal stasis
    be a dead weight,
        pulling us into the deep?
Would we feel alone
      like a voyager into space
As all sound stops save
      the beating of our hearts?

No, we would never be alone.
Since all could fade to naught,
      but we would remain,
To bathe in the sweat
    of Oligocene giants,
      locked in a forever embrace.