Before the end of time

Now. With this day
What shall I do?
My body aches,
With sleep, my veins a-cursing.

I tiptoe to the door:
What shall I see?
Under my toes
The cold in thunder strokes awoke.

So many textures,
Colours new…
Yet unexplored.
The torpor folds amid the sun-grey coils.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/daily-prompt-future-2/

It is not language, but how we experience it that will change.