The End

They say the end is knowledge; do we know
What lies amidst the content of such thought?
It's not expressed as yet, and so it ought
To be a secret. Then, it starts to flow
From mouths: a clammy trickle in the dark
Of ignorance, where every eye is blind.
And, though we seek it, we can never find
The reassurance, truth had hoped to spark.
In lighting up ideas, which we can dread,
The cold illumination won't endear
Us to awareness. We must always fend,
Though further information leaves some dead-
Certain: darkness is bound to reappear;
Reserve is killed by knowledge: it's the end.