In the End
The silence is a raucous circus spent
in incoherent dreams that fly from thought
to painful thought, no rest for weary wings.
Like frantic moths still searching for the moon,
they circle lights from porch to empty porch
and then ... to only wake alone again.
Your memory drifts so slowly in the breeze
that lifts the curtain's fingers touching me
as if to whisper and too calm a frantic soul
in search of peace that only you can bring;
with faith that you will be there in the end.
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