"Mine is the heart that will break ten thousand times for the good of the world"
-Tyler Kent
An End of SortsDare I question? I question
These questions of questions?
And that all good things come to an end.
And should they end?
Why do they end?
These good things that we cherish so, yet never measure.
But, claim that measure is the measure of measure
And never should these good things be subjected so.
Yet, how do they end?
Do the grow sick and old?
Rotting as if a mere piece of overripe fruit.
Maggots squirming through the cavities of them.
And these are what we once called good times.
There were times of sorrow
And times of joy.
Times of times, and half times and no times.
A time to know and time to be known.
And here, here among the halls of memory
Of peace and prosperity
Where dark things never crawl or creep, slither or slime.
And these we call good times.
We were friends, you and I.
As I paced the halls of thoughts unknown, lies and deceit were my trade.
And you, a sweetness of memory, worried in ways and ways
Ways of known and unknown. Such a Paragon
I have never known.
And compared to I,
I the crippled crawling thing. The one
That sleeps among the shadows as blackening fogs
Creep among the brickyards of the mind.
My mind.
and these we call good times.
And we came to a crossroads
So many times.
And we had chances to take our chances
With chance for chance and at a chance.
We took chances with each other
And continued onward. Down the road we had been walking
Down to the sea of our own making.
And should we ever come to a waking
And wake from this dream we have dreamed.
Where the day is measures by pacing feet
We have come to our last crossroad,
Or so it seems.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
And these roads have ended.
These winding wayward streets that never mended a single soul,
They have ended.
Ended. Ended. Ended. Such a bitter end.
And not the ending I would have had.
No ending I would have had, had I had the way I had planned.
No ending of this you and me
And together we would sit by the sea.
A sea of waking dreams.
A sea of our own making.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
Here is our end. My sweetest of friends.
My true listener of hearts. One of love I bear this hard.
And you would have me spent,
Wasted away and left to wait
Upon the sands of the beach where no waves flow.
A desert bereft of hope.
And should this, this fate for me be the thing you wish
Then let is be so.
And to the sea I shall never go.
I shall grant you any wish
Should it be within myself to give.
And if you wish to send me away
I'll never trouble you again. Not today nor ever.
But I would have you know,
I am sorry. Sorry that I have little left to give
And have given you so little in the end.
And let the punishment fit the crime
I have burned you, scarred you and harmed you, for the last time.
I would have you know,
I do apologize.
And here I know
To the sea I shall not go.
And here, now as I stand beside the cliffs
I can hear the waves call me.
And I reflect on these twisted rotted thing
The things we call good times.
And of friendships then and now.
And here, here sit the waves.
And I shall never know,
For to the sea I shall not go.
