A CRY FOR FREEDOM © 2008

I have failed in everything I did,

Never carried anything to the end,

Except in this self-reflection,

That consumes me, slow and grey.

But when does the end come?

Is it an instant before it becomes,

Or after losing everything,

When the last glimmer fades?

Perhaps the end is not so clear,

Nor a defined full stop,

But a slow, rare unravelling,

Of all that was not lived.

The end might be profound silence,

A farewell that echoes without sound,

Or perhaps, the end of the world

Is merely a good new beginning.

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