for Vicki Rose
In the end, we are all the toys of Fate.
She plays with us until we either break
Or she gets bored, and throws us off the great
High cliff of Life, a journey all things take.
In the end, all the things we never did
Die with us, like stowaways on a ship
That’s lost at sea—unknown; unmarked amid
The victims; but still held in Death’s tight grip.
And after all the charity, the sinning,
The faith you kept so none would ever doubt you—
In the end, there is only one beginning:
The story of what happens next without you.
Our fate is to ignore the obvious.
In the end, Life goes on. Just not with us.
Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells