Often confusing

Uncertain

What is the end of the world?
Is it our death; or the death of us all?
When I cease will too the world,
Or maybe just me, the big I.
Why is it we hunger so much,
Our bellies starve, our eyes devour.
And when we see for certain how,
Our life's teeter, uncertain now.
Oh how our eyes devour all they see,
Hungrier than hungry could be.
They eat the stars they saw for years,
And yet passed over for better cheers.
For all in the world they thought unpalatable,
The brooks, the streams, the prairie fields.
Oh how wondrous caviar and trout.
A feast of kings for the fiercest of ours.
We devour such mundane things,
When we see that the end is near,
For near the end all that we see,
Is all we will ever see.
And then we know not whether tis the end,
Maybe our eyes are the curtains to end,
This drama we dance called our lives;
Uncertain, our ends.