To the End of the Earth

None walk past its gaping mouth without turning. Where truth becomes lies and lies turn to memories I sit where the end begins.

Poetry and Prose

Image generated by Bing Image Creator

None walk past its gaping mouth without turning.
Where truth becomes lies and lies turn to memories
I sit where the end begins.

How did I arrive? I simply walked with my feet, sore and dirty.

The road behind me is you, and I have memories longer than the road that stretches out ahead.

Cool spring days where dew tickled my toes with every step contrasted by the warm sun on my skin.
The birds sang sweet songs as we lovingly laughed low, bouncing around the yard like baboons.

We built dirt castles in the backyard, I your king and you my queen. 
Sweet and sweaty summer nights soured into shallow fall, only to transcend. 
Winter, freezing and white while waiting for warmth, caused a closeness to one another.
Spring returned for new life and I inhaled in the returning dew of newness. 
It tasted magical, almost God-like, as I watched the cycle continue for others and still others more, until eventually it ceased for us.

Now, dry and hot, I alone remember. 
No one returns. 
No one remains.
All reoccurring.

At the edge of the void, I stare out into the abyss with indescribable scrutiny.
Will I fall forever? Who is there? Are you there?

Standing, with my toes over the edge, I close my eyes and step. 
I feel the rushing of the wind against my face. 
It screams in my ears and fills my lungs.

The smell of sulfer and hot ash greets my senses and stings.
The cliff I stood on fades away into blackness, and nothing but the ringing in my ears remain.

Soon, I become weightless, as an end becomes a beginning, and a beginning becomes my end.