In closing
And now in closing,
I leave you with this:
obscene gestures in kind places,
friendly words uttered no more.
Young love,
catching fire,
burning.
She cries.
He dies
Oh what mourning!
A love once lost
having been won, then tossed,
no longer stains my conscious thoughts.
My hands of this matter,
I’ve washed.
So what of the bounty?
And what of the queen?
Is she frightened, scared,
making a scene?
Does she weep endlessly,
violently scream?
Well,
in closing, in closing
in closing my box,
I’m far too tired to shut up the locks,
or bar up the windows,
or jump to the rocks.
It’s a ride,
a ride you see?
Nothing more to life,
than the birds and the bees.
Nothing more to close but eyes and ears.
Hers and mine together, we freeze.
Wordsmith of Sol 