The end


A poet on the verge of destruction…

(a gun on his knees…)

weeping and shedding tears of his own…

(cluttered paper on his hands…)

He weep for the love that he has lost..

as well as for the woman he could not hold…

he cries for second chances and of hope…

for the woman of broken sonnets and shattered dreams…

He calls for her name in soliloquy…

as his poetry patterned itself in infidelity….

He honed that talent, neglecting her pleas….

driving her away, contending not himself…

He weep till the tears slowed down in his cheeks…

breathlessly, he finds a way to make amends…

crying for forgiveness, he aims for his beat….

closing his eyes, he knows it’s the end….

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