The Grand Finale Poem by Richard Jarboe

Who can forget the Grand Finale?
Who can forget such sentimentality,
One lover says 'I'm sorry, '
And then music kicks off the Grand Finale.

Some will require an opiate,
Shot with arrow's of fate,
And when you hear the Grand Finale,
You know it's getting late.

Somewhere between sweet air and hell,
They say we are blessed,
But with such a catalog of cutthroats,
Why exactly, is anybody's guess.

It all comes down to the Grand Finale,
The Big moment on the set,
Vital organs blast the sound
In a rhapsody beset.

Upon the final farewell,
The lovers turn to the street,
Dumping their hearts back in the alley,
As lights dim on the Grand Finale.