LPiA Nov30

[Tiger the Lion]

Let's Pretend it's April - Nov. 30

Rules: Write a poem for LPiA on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for the month of November. 

Topic : Write a poem about something coming to an end. 
Form : Any
Line requirements: Eight or more.

Feel free to reply with comments or kudos as you wish. 

Questions?

[TranquillityBase]

There are so many of us
so many
how can we think of endings
where endlessness stalks our every move?
Things fall apart, that seems 
the only true ending for the likes of us,
our bodies crumble
or are suddenly erased by bad timing.
I used to believe I was a harbinger
of endings, that my appearance on the scene
spelled the end of something.
Now I know we are all stepping
toward ends that procure yet another beginning.
Perhaps it’s those beginnings we should fear.

[CRNDLSM]

I never finish my dreams.
Frankly Ive remembered one dream
In nearly 10 years and I forgot what happened.
Last night though I woke up 
at 4 am with a searing headache.
I clearly remembered Mark Zuckerburg
working for me, and bringing nearly
100 people to the workplace to help
and everything was a disaster
and no one knew anything,
and it turned into a hotel
with a swimming pool
on a mountain
in summer.

[Mark A Becker]

At the End of Fall

In the too early darkness I failed
to notice the rain slicked leaves
covering the trail.

I laid on my back
while an orange leaf floated
onto my reddened face.

My dog Jack crashed through
yellow leaves, rustling squirrels
that just scurry away.

Now I hardly walk
the trail, leaning on my stick-
in no hurry anymore 

and you're an apparition
running through the woods-
still running, like before...

[dukealien]

Viral Endpoint


Now we all know although
those most empowered won’t admit
that “COVID” will in time be done:

that fearsome virus came in like
(if not came from) a Sinic dragon
but will exit as a cow
with withered udder milked dry by
blood-guilty faux-xi grasping hands
and last of all a tail which ends
not forked but with a lashing tassel
flinging deliquescent dung.

[Mark A Becker]

Maybe
I had
fallen
asleep
before
getting
to the
end of
the line...

Was it
all just
a dream?

[RiverNotch]

Once, I climbed a hill
the locals called Mount Sion.
I washed myself in a stream
they called the River Jordan.

Lianas crept up boulders
like angels up a ladder
and fought each other for light
like Jacob and the Angel.

We unbelievers lost
our breath at every step,
a pilgrimage the faithful
breezed through every week.

Behind each tree was a cave
where Joseph buried Jacob,
where Joshua buried Joseph,
where Israel buried Joshua.

Candles sketched with shadow
the lines of Hannah's face
and moved her mouth to prayer
through the flickering of their flames.

On the summit, we believed
we could see the entire world
although the nearby ocean
was far below the horizon,

and we were back on the bus
to Manila, their Babylon.