…begets an ending

What comes after the brouhaha?
when the voices are stilled?
when the silence fills the void?
we called it love, but it had too many voices
and none of them were mine
everything I didn’t say, now crashing like waves in the dark
adrift upon waves of sorrow, the night pulls me closer
a coldness that lingers like winter
memories are drifting on slow beating wings
truth and lies, tangled alike, the deep shades of ambiguity
falling out of my reach in their black feathered descent
and when I close my eyes I still see fields of flowers
blue, as the depths of your eyes
and I want to believe that you might think kindly of me
for even the faintest of blooms still ache to be seen
in the cold wind of the aftermath
both the leaves and the stars are falling
against the onyx walls of the of gathering night
their final descent into oblivion
just one last dance in the mystical cycles of time
clocks tick and clocks tock and time sculpts many illusions
in this bright empty space our love is now forever lost
somewhere between the fading moonlight and the rising of the sun
every beginning begets an ending
and every ending has the promise of another beginning
I watch the candle slowly dying
what will remain?
ashes, perhaps?
unanswered questions?
or finally, can I breathe?
a slow, sacred, breath
the kind that comes when the storm departs
and in this moment of reflection
I realise, that I am still standing
© Ann Bagnall