The End

We end where we began,

with the fluttering of a thousand wings,

and the beating of a hundred drums

as the world shatters around us.

It is a face or some eyes,

or a voice or some thighs,

that turns our heads

and makes us a mockery of ourselves,

makes us melt and swoon

and drip like wax at their feet.

And it’s easy to loose

but a hard game to win,

when it starts with a grin

and ends with a clap,

because whether slow

or fast, when it’s done

it’s a surprise to everyone.

It’s uncanny, it’s strange

how the pain of the end

feels like the shock of the start,

electricity and fire,

uncertainty and doubt,

insides pounding percussion

and trying to fly away

and it always goes

that we end where we began.


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