Is this where it ends?
The pouring of words,
The same as the rain against the window.
Moisture to the grass.
Safely unlatching the gate,
The horses huff in the darkness.
The sky so bare,
But it reminds me of someone else;
Beneath his chin, beneath our dreams.
Is this where we have come?
To my insincerities,
To my lies, disguised as truths.
Half-truths, we will say.
Your arms an honour:
Your doors are opening,
But I am locked behind my own.
Is this where the road ends?
Cooped up for too long,
The light has escaped our space;
Casting shade in your eyes
And doubt on me.
With the road that lay ahead, breaking slowly,
Crumbling in slow motion:
So loudly, so harshly.
Is this where we end?
Individual thoughts on the unknown:
Opinions and perspective
The world went upside down when you spoke,
Tossing me off my feet,
The red of my hair the last thing I recall.
An inner voice spoke then:
The clucks and the chatters faded.
Until it all became void.
But this is not the first time,
This will not be the last.
Although, it is the end:
To the vanilla latte air,
To the inconvenience.
The pins on the map are all mine now,
The administration is yours.
I have no more debt,
And the circles never combined anyway.
The sun sets while we look away,
And then we drift off:
Into the abyss, into our own worlds,
Until we find our voices,
And start again.
© All Rights Reserved Joanne Heraghty