Tuesday, February 12, 2008


At the End,
when I stare into The Eyes of
the last face I ever wish to see,

we'll talk about it.

About what it meant.

And I'll say,

I never cared to be known for my writing.
I never cared for gratitude when I gave a gift.
I never chased money that I had lent to a needy friend.
I never worried...

Yes you did, The Eyes will say.
Not the first three,
but the last.

You did worry.

And I'll smile a tired smile.
You know me.
I did worry.
I did want.
I did hope.
I hoped that everything would change,
that everyone would understand,
and I hope that still.

I guess I'm about find out,
I'll say,
what it's all about
in The End.

And The Eyes will begin to weep,
and the tears will fall on my face,
a final futile attempt to feed and fix,
to tie me down, to hold me here,
don't go, the eyes say, please don't go...

And I will cry my farewell,
and smile
at the last face I ever wish to see,
and hope that they say,

He died of Hope.

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