Where the End Begins

 This is where the end begins;

When I let my pen spill ink of what I truly think
Of you, of us, of everything.
Apocalyptic, cathartic yet gentle winds
That do whisper of us to the universe;
And it must know, the purity, the mess,
These ancient texts of who we are, who we were.

This is where the end begins;
Where I place my pen and let it ink
Along the pages, seeping in,
Honest, raw, feeling yet unfeeling.
And it whispers yet of everything;
When I write of you, what you do
Without doing a thing at all
It whispers still, in my ear, the gentlest winds.
So tell me winds, why does the end always begin
With sweetness and tears - unhurt, turbulent.
If I don't say it out loud it isn't real;
Once I have, it fades away.