If the beginning is the sunrise

Then are ashes the end?

Or is the end the silence

Of men?

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.