The End Poem by S.W. Clark

Chase these years of unconfined tears
and take away my sorrows
let bands of dreams feel for me
and remember no more tomorrows.
I fear I found a path untold
yet many I see have traveled.
A road of dust and hopeless things,
of gloom and despair unraveled.
Is this my lot that looks so bland
no glitter, gold nor glamor?
Without a change, again and again,
it has no spicy savor.
But yet I know my sweat and tears
are no different than the fate of others,
withered dreams
winter's solstices
the fervent heat of summers.
Compost dust and senseless lint
things which the end is made of.
The splint of pain to feet ease
The lust for peace to end the war
The solder's fight for victors' comfort
The solder's rest in losers' shame
We come to the end and for fear we tremble
yet when all is over our lessons unlearned.
We strived as rulers and groveled as paupers
but when there is need we are all the same.
The king wears no crown nor pope his miter,
the knights joust and fools jest have ended,
when want of life dooms the heart.
Death is the great equalizer, the mirror of
darkness we all behold, yet strangely we view it differently.
But darkness is darkness none the less.
We have stretched the band and how mightily
it held itself and kept its unity. When it
broke though it was not mighty yet it kept
it's unity and was not at rest. This is not your rest,
this is your strength.
Brokenness is your rest, when I am weak then am I strong.
We come to the end
just think how strong we will be.