When silence finally descends
I like to wonder how it ends
—not the silence, which will be
ripped away unceremoniously,
but all of it: what’s in mind,
what’s in store, what’s behind.
Do we find triumph? Or pretend
at least a victory-flavored blend
of mixed results, death and life,
sometimes deep, sometimes trite?
Or in the end, will all I grimly find
be meaningless, unless it rhymed?
December 2020
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