The end.

It finishes like a show,
Waiting for applause,
But we will never know,
What this show is about.

It finishes like the end of winter,
When the cold turns to warmth,
The bitter cold bite like a splinter,
The warmth now warming our souls.

It finishes like a tree,
When the leaves begin to crisp,
When the leaves fall free,
And leaves the tree empty.

It finishes like a life,
That never meant to last,
Cut short by a knife,
Cut short from their past.

It is the message we need to send,
To stop the pain in its tracks,
To make it the end,
To make it finally stop.