Poetry Under Construction

At the end of the barrel of a gun

the soldier is so concentrated on his target

he is too blind to see

that he shoots his own reflection.

*

Dear God…

When I stretched my arms like telephone wires to your truth

I ended up calling myself.

*

Some stories have to start at the end

To get to the beginning

But if the story ends how it began

Then does the story really begin at the end –

Or end at the open?

You see, the way we ended

Was as predictable

As the first night my lips found yours

Our first kiss was a promise

Neither of us was in a position to make

And our last kiss

Held a hope

Nether of us was ready to embrace

But unlike your version of the story;

My end involves a new beginning

That accepts

Nothing less

Than a story worth telling

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