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.