The End May Be The Very Best Poem by david lessard

The trumpet blows -
You cannot hear it...

The angels sing -
and no one hears...

We're left in silence,

Our lives pass by,

So fast...the years.


We cannot smell,
the flowers fading -

We just ignore,
The sunrise grand;

Now soon, it'll be
your grave,
the trees are shading,

And the time
erodes...
like shifting sand.


Like the wind,
it's always blowing -

Like the sea,
It never is at rest;

Soon the end,
we'll all be knowing,

and hopefully,

the end will be...

the very best.