He cries
Yes sometimes
The memory burnt in
Hot iron press into his weak mind
He saw the flowers yet again
Some bustling with life
Half drooping and dying diligently
And he saw
Theres something sinister in the mind
When you realize you near the end of a chapter
All you can do is read on until it ends
...
Well what if you dont want it to end
Stopping reading would be stopping everything
And reading is your life
Escaping or reality of the mind
He knew he was nearing the end of that chapter
All he wanted was to hold on
Read a little bit slower
So mabye
Just mabye
He could enjoy his comfort for a little bit longer
See he is plagued
Not with a disease no
But with foresight
He knew again it was ending
And it ended
And it broke him
All he could see were the flowers
Tears meandered the regular path on his dry cheek
He could still see it
As he slowly forgot her face
The flowers
Sitting atop the dresser
The final bell had sounded. Happy kids
fled halls and classrooms, out those double doors.
I heard brief conversations: “Call me soon” . . .
“Hey, let’s go swimming” . . . “Catch ya later, Dude!”
They’d soon return to school, but not to me.
I graded final tests and posted grades
just as I had for decades, but then came
lunchtime with colleagues and unique good-byes,
from some I’d seldom see, some not at all—
for I would never pass that way again.
I filled my car with boxes that contained
a plethora of teaching aids, a mass
of memories of a career—of my
identity since I was twenty-two.
Then, through my tears, I took one long last look,
and made my way toward my other home.
I see you placed on a shelf
My protagonist
Inky smudge on my heart
Your paragraphs carved
We have laughed and loved
Through chapters lived
Story cast and relished
My parchment of hope
Perched higher than the others
Friend of mine bound by leather
Your pages have shaped me
Creased and wrinkled
Blemished stained page
I do cry alone
Farewell my story
For our chapter has ended
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