The End

No more flies buzzing in and out through the open door on summer days
No more sun-warmed thresholds as your bare feet make an imprint
No more stormy nights where you sit quietly inside listening to the wind howl
No more rain drumming softly on your hooded raincoat as you hurry back inside with the mail
No more snow crunching underfoot as you approach the tracks, squinting at the pale sun
No more mornings with coffee and toast, dressing gowns and news coming out of the TV.

No more smiling at your children
Playing with your grandchildren
Sitting with your partner.

Who knows if there’s comfort waiting
Who knows if we melt, emerge, merge
or are recycled.

There’s only hope, and if that’s not there,
there’s nothing.

— THE END —

P.S. There’s a letting go in life that I don’t care for
as much as I should.
If I tend to it, cry with it, allow it to do what it’s here to do
I might just fall deeper into life.