…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