I didn’t want to.
Eyes wide open toward the sun.
The gold had thinned out
toward the deep blue of forever.
Where was the end of it?
Sculpted clouds insisted I look away,
their majesty butting in with finite beauty.
Grey smudges in and around fine lines.
I was driving toward the end of day
but I didn’t want to.
I pulled over and waited.
The gravel road ceased its grumbling.
Trees, like sentries, stood attentive.
The End of Days walked
my way and took my hand.
His eyes, like the sun, shone a path
before us and a finger pointed up
to the blue eternity.
I saw with a squint
the joy of true friendship.
I still feel an arm around my shoulder.
It is another Monday.
Most of the out-of-towners
have gone back to their life.
My son and I watched
a blood orange sun
disappear beyond the edge
of the earth.
Near the end
it appeared bigger
and sunk faster.
It was like the death
of my mother.
At the end we stared.
We counted her
freckles and wrinkles
and the rise and fall of her chest.
At the time it seemed like eternity,
but now the memory is a short journal entry.
It is like taking out a granite tablet
and jotting down her life in a sentence.
The beauty was fleeting
and we wanted to touch it.
There was once a big moon
as big as a get-well balloon.
There was a big sun
as big as a farewell.
© Gerald Allen Barrett and parentheticallyspeakingin3d, 2012.