The End (a poem)

I know why everybody’s gone, halfheartedly
The Devil is a finely-tuned mistake
Just off center front stage
Sitting in a black box
Drinking champagne
His eye a spotlight

He keeps a letter in his pocket
Dark corduroy lint free
He smells of oak and pine
And her expression is a look of expectation she will never meet
He finds her in the most desolate ruin

Out of breath
Wasted time
Ready to die

Regret is a curtain pulled aside
And she dances with fury
He’s convinced the moon is under her spell

She prefers the clouds her audience
The quiet solitude
Where destiny won’t find her
Where broken promises and debts will never be paid…

© Delia Ross. 2022 / @poeeternal

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