Final Poem Poem by Timothy Long

If today was my last poem would it certainly be so? The past slowly but fastly in months following, seeing truth in false in fiction lives, being private and closed off was it good or horribly precise, giving and receiving are hand with hand of fellow man, is this the end for me or will I continue on? All the memories and tales I have spread and yet I want to write novels not poems, it seems I can only write poems, am I doomed to write only these or more, I stream my tales of emotions to inspire me to make upset, I settled for the middle, not the worst but not the best, if the strange mess of writing can stay in literature, can anyone make it, is this my final thought or vision? I stay to tell my own take even if this is my own final ending.