The End


The End

The End


My friends, the end has come,

the journey complete, the eye

of the tiger and needle have

joined as one, slipping

through he leaves this world.


Sick and tired of being someone

else, like a chameleon colors he

blends into obscurity leaving his

soul to attack the world he lives in

with a fierce determination to reach

out to others.


Lost he’s been in the dividing

shadows that mask his pain,

the bottle near his side.

The darkness hovers over his

shoulders, he walks with a

solitude, forever lost in written

word, he sits upright in his

chair, the quill at its ready,

the ink overflowing in his well,

the ghosts coming forth, the

skeletons let loose, he hides



Into the night he mellows

remembering every hidden story

that haunted his past life,

blackened inside, torn like a

ripped curtain from his stage.


A lost man, with words he lingers

awhile and plucks them from his

Muse who disgusts’ him at times

moments of silence, personal dreams

he wants to share, yet is halted by

this sarcastic Muse who stiffens

his upper lip and stares the stare

of arrogance towards this poet.


He is shaken, bewildered, forging

like a wild animal through the dark

of night, and perched forevermore

his Raven awaiting his departure

from his realm. Lurking always,

pecking at his side, blackened by

his crushed pages of blankness

that whispers for him to continue

to scribe behind his chamber door.


Oh this man so diverse and depressed,

yet breathes shallow from his filtered

mind. Please let him go and remember

him I’m begging you, for who he was, a sad

man, a hollow soul filled with sorrows.

confused, lost and amusing to his



Lay him down to rest among the small

people, the lost ones, the infamous

writers who bled each word they

felt and shared. He will go unloved

to these demons below who await

him with glee and rubbing hands

that sweat for his arrival to Hell

below his feet.


© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved

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