ENDINGS

There are no ends to a poem
Yep, there’s never an ending
You know why?
Because you’re not dead
They’re not alive

Your teacher
Your brain
Is still alive and working
DNA, RNA, cells, etc
All working
Can you see?

Never
Ha
Can you imagine?
All the words flowing in your blood stream
Never the same…
Happy, sad, mean, crazy, etc
It never ends

Imagine the possibility
Every second
Every face you see
Every breath you take
Crazy
Yet so beautiful

It never ends
Even if you’re dead
Shakespeare, homer
Their poems, blah
They’re still alive and working
They’re immortal

Writing is never dead
But only taught
Ending you say?
Baka
It’s alive