Shutting the Door



All good things come to an end. I emerged in spring’s haze and survived the haunting ground. The baying of eternal urges pursued, the ravenous hounds. I tried to shut the door, but trumpets lingered as a familiar sound.

A chosen road or a fated path. If I was a penitent man and crossed the invisible bridge, would I still opt for the gilded chalice? The inescapable thrill permeates a doomed denouement, imposing without my ask. It’s not a time for casual malice.

Nobody to blame. No anchor for the pain. Nobody saw me crossing the finish line. The starting gun wasn’t an act of faith. It was time to run. You found me one step ahead and matched pace but the blisters formed when it was time to race.

The chapter is final with the edit pending. A cautionary tale etched on the binding. A serene beach replete with plastic, a meandering sage asks to be match fit. The blank page seeks a compelling thread while novel choices reveal the stage ahead.

I caught myself red-handed, its release demanded. There is no value here. Thus efforts disbanded. There never was a vision for to aim at, not a true knack for desire. It was not trying that quelled it, but the cooling of the fire.

The door is shut. Their life was mine. An actress hides from the world but the spotlight shines. I see the encroaching darkness of the revelatory night. As one rages against the dying of the light, the other sleeps away their life.

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