All goes onward and outward... and nothing collapses, And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Who need be afraid of the merge?
Undrape.... you are not guilty to me, nor stale nor
          discarded,
I see through the broadcloth and gingham whether
          or no,
And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless.... and
          can never be shaken away.

walt whitman. song of myself 1855