Thought Trains

I wish I had a few ending words to complete a compelling story with. Maybe a poem with end lines that actually end, but then those kind of ending might die too soon. That’s how a poem should be, no defined beginnings and endings nothing finished, always moving on, moving into a falling away silence that speaks out loud. That kind of muse comes back at you; wants to be known not necessarily understood. Last lines are keys, they unlock that invisible door in your mind. They are unreasonable and that is why they say something beyond the margins of any page.