At the end of the book <br /> the pages run out. <br />The words stop. <br />There is no future <br /> only a past: <br />The splendid pageantry of seldom-told tales <br />The exhilaration of the finish <br />The sorrow of the leaving <br />People and places, conquest and conflict <br />All <br />Adrift in memory. <br /> <br />Turn off the light <br />Pull the covers tight <br />In the soft assurance of a pillow <br />A sweet, sweet dream <br />Goodnight. <br /> <br /> <br />(Previously published in Webstatic, May 2000; Poetry the Write Way Anthology, Writers Club Press,2000)<br /><br />Laurence Overmire<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-63/
