The final stage is in range.
The blood, sweat, and tears
were sincere. The highs
and lows that I felt
were never in vain.
I push off the shore into
the final stage. My boat
floats without resistance
toward a solitary island
in the distance. Onward,
I go: it’s coming to a close.
The final stage is where
I must be. There’s a final
boss that I must beat.
The last, final stage
will be the best one
I will have played
in this fateful game.
Days fly, and they don’t
say “hi!” or wave “bye!”
Days fade as memories
are made. No time to be
afraid. The world turns
just how a candle burns.
None of that concerns
me. I try my best to feel
blessed – to digest stress.
I try not to waste away,
but I must have my rest.
Like a car sitting alone
in an empty parking lot:
Sometimes, I’m all I got.
I am the bullet being shot.
Will I hurt or help? Die
or try? Crawl or Fly?
Should I wonder why?
Do I fall or do I rise?
Either way, I wont waste
time easily misplaced.
I choose to face the day
instead of wasting away.
Many questions come to
mind – some with answers
some without. Questions
about life gives insight.
Questions keep most going
without anyone knowing
answers – How annoying!
Did curiosity kill the cat?
Did the cat kill the rat?
– or was it killed in a trap?
Did he get the promotion?
Has she found true love?
Did he lose control?
Has she lost motivation?
Did he find a purpose?
Did she make new friends?
Did he smile and pretend?
Has she reached the end?
Did he wonder when?
Did she live to the fullest?
Did he dodge her bullets?
The sound of silence – feelings
of loneliness. The sight of darkness.
The seclusion of time. The power
of stillness – lacking movement.
The memory of day. The joys
of spending the night alone.
The ability to think – to envision
the future. The willingness
to reflect. It must be the end
of the day. The sun has died
to no one’s surprise. The moon
has risen with precision.
With a retired sun, lost souls
have the time of their life
during the dead of the night.
What goes up
must come down.
What goes right
has never left.
Some never come
down when they
go up and away.
Those lucky enough
come down with
a new found love
for the sky above.
Hills and valleys –
streets and alleys –
sad and happy;
we must feel it
all when we fall.
When we slip up,
we must never
look down. Look
around, and think
of those climbing
the same mountain.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 