The End - Poem by Dela Bobobee
What happens to our beginning
when the end sets in abruptly
like pages torn from a novel
that tells our unfinished story
in hushed tones shrouded in
silly self pity of anachronism?
will our end be just like a dream
of a cold sun that sets at dawn
to depict a fossil past in rubrics
that was tainted and traumatized
or beget new beginnings in an end
like the old phoenix from the dust
purged in crucible of conscience?
when the dust settles from hunts
and we look around us with hope
poverty is a state of the mind
we shall mend our leaking barns
and nurse no more real wounds
our bleeding hearts will clot
and our last becomes the first.
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