The End

To find the end,

preserved friend,

always waiting,

endless watching.

The wind blows.

The men whistle,

a tune of thorn and thistle.

Jagged spikes prickle.

The wind blows.

The wind whistles

the man’s song.

Always waiting,

endless watching,

preserved, in tact.

The end is found.

Once lost,

now found.

The end is found.

But what is to be found?

When you don’t know loss.

The only found is contempt

for another

who knows the difference?

If there was an end

there would be a beginning

but I have found nothing but sinning.

Thoughtful contemptible

raising the bar

Do you know who you are?