The Ends
The ends don't always bend, in space,
Wend directly back, to rendezvous with our expectations,
Rather get caught in the hurly-burly we create,
Grope through the confusion of our here-and-now fates,
The ill-timed, chaotic odysseys we perpetrate
When least realizing we're hurting a soul mate.
And when those ends finally do reach our destinations,
Lie, in wait, where we believe inevitability lurks,
We have cause for grievous consternation and worse:
Sorrow, remorse, melancholy, regret,
Desperate longing for our irretrievable loss,
Which, no matter where we hide from ourselves, expose us,
Hold our hearts accountable for the maelstroms we've fueled,
Waylaying the ends we've set in motion,
Those that beset the rest of our lives, with sudden death.
06/28/09
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