They always say every story must come an end,
every chapter must, well, embarks on its closings,
and every memory or scar must mend!
But, whenever I hear the winds in the canyon,
resounding vows of years ago,
back a decade, maybe more or so,
I find myself tangled in recollection,
a life time of win and woe...
Of much promise and imperfection!
And time passes... As it should...
They told me it would!
The animals are gone now,
they have left me to my sorrows...
To the stories your kittens, and you, would know...
To emptiness and many tomorrows!
I lay; ponder a sigh,
it must take its time, you know,
before I let it by...
Still, the midnight sky lingers,
to a frozen stop...
The days would pass, and flee,
but the starlit darkness,
is often atop!
Have I been a sinner?
Would you have been a saint?
Would there be a place for my corpse to rest,
without torture, prize, or the slightest complaint?
I find myself staggered, with my parting role...
How else will this chapter be sealed?
How will my pages fold?
My story is an aging one;
centuries and eras old!
But, whenever I hear the winds in the canyon resound,
I feel I have been longingly wintered,
in this barrened, unholy ground!
A.r. Bazian
*Written for a Writerscafe.org contest in 2012