the end

quick, don’t turn your back,
fickle hearts lie
so much so that what you’ve built,
with beaded sweat and silver toil
lay behind you, crushed and burned with flame and feet.
keep ready
a goodbye in handy,
or none at all, to what you prefer.
something like death, hits hardest,
at soft joints and weathered patience
comes with two words not worth hearing,
so say your bitter grinding greetings
to
the end.