Good things come to an end
as we know it now.
We are now entitled
to our own selves again.
You will walk in the wind
your face facing forward
for you don't need poetic words
to look back to;
to contain all of these
leftovers.
But I,
my insides create heat
like charcoal
as I turn into
a dozen of metaphors
to look back to;
to contain all of these
leftovers.
But I will walk
from poem to poem,
from charged word to word,
from crumble to crumble
of what remains,
from burning metaphor
to metaphor
until finally
like this was a good thing,
it will come to an end.
YOU ARE READING
END
PoetryEndings are beginnings of beautiful things. #1 on the end-live-begin trilogy.
