When life seems empty at the end
the question is “now what’s next?”
a muted answer is whispered forth
lost in the teeth of the coming storm

too long nurtured by reticence
the tempest is harvested at long last
bearing fruit with sad appeal
the poison disguised with the sweet

when satisfaction falls too short
the mark eluded when plans strayed
if one could say the shot was aimed
to find something without blame

this game revealed as zero sum
with only losers in my head
give the world the winning purse
while questions ask what’s been rehearsed.

© 2020. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20200104.