The End.

A Termination of a life time of many lives.

An old directionless fog’s culmination,

Inside the warmth of the world, now melting;

With people (unfairly) sober from the dawn’s purple haze.

A serene river pouring its ageless contentment,

Into the infinite vastness of the seas,

An unfazed limitless pool of apathy.

Donnie, He didn’t have dreams anymore;

So overcome with woe was he,

Many a hooting owl having been killed,

By the silent hopeful whispers of his trances,

As they stood patiently on his frosty window.

The End must be!

The sighs, Donnie lets out,

Into the morning fog,

Into the thankful contentment of the dying river.

Into a journey doomed.

As streams of life grow onto his senses,

He grows into the vaults of the End,

Glancing into its limited confines,

Into long forgotten ghosts struggling for escape;

Donnie gasps.

A Realization so vaulting dawns:

The End,

Always has an end.

-Palash