Friday, March 19, 2010


End hits hard
like a door closing on face, rudely.
sometimes, like opening that window, to release the stale air.
too close the tired lids of waiting;
of waiting too much, too long.

End comes to let the old desires rest in peace.
because old desires become wounds,
and wounds cannot be forgotten, only lanced.

End is compulsory, to open up the vision,
to see beyond the canvas of mist, the stars in the sky.
to hear that song which calls beyond the far horizons,
for the departure of a hurting past,
for the resurrection of a deserted present.

End raises above the carcass of hope the bull,
before its feet grows red upon the sands
to see a rose as white as justice.

End is veneration; a decent burial. 

End puts an end to uncertain optimism.

End is a new beginning. 


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...