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.
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