If the beginning is the sunrise
Then are ashes the end?
Or is the end the silence
When does the light refuse to fill
And when does man refuse to kill?
If this is the end is it saccharine
Is it the end where bystanders slam palms and lean
On the shoulder of a loved one
Eyes are rivers and shoulders
And will our God from thin air accept and hold us?
Or is this empty thought
From a foolish, ripened heart.