Speaking at the End

Hanging at the seams are the answers. The questions still lie on the table with the scraps. They are divided among those who will search for the unseen. The reasons why we walk upright. Why we reason on our own but still need a guide. The theories may not all fit. They may become just as much a mystery. But the questions mean more.

II.
No one is interested in the content--only the label and its size. Branded before time could finish the product. Unsure if the first half will match the second. In the meantime, the intermission is full. And the regret is bitter about the future.

III.
Requests, ones spoken desires. Some locked inside, left as a secret. They may not be legal in the sense of obeying laws, but they can reach a point in which they make their own laws. Taking on shapes and walking around searching for a fence to rest on. Seizing the moment, they disregard asking permission, abandon the rules of physics, and sweep up the crumbs that fall from the table.

IV.
No ones talking. This is a failed attempt to make it untrue. However, the evidence is on the table--their prints mar the walls. They would rather pretend it's some sort of illusion. If this is true, we must all walk around with the same delusions. How else can you explain the common emotions? Explain how pie taste sweet to everyone with a normal palette. Explain how summer is warm. Some things can't be packaged. They just show up at the front door as if they have lost their way, stumbling in the dark.

V.
The whispers are getting louder. They haven't found their way to their intended victim. The speculations blow wildly in the wind. The daggers are ready to pierce with fire.

VI.
Before you claim yourself you'll give your soul to another. Not sure if you are worthy to posses such freedom. The freedom to own yourself, to wear your own name. Not a slave to faith, but to those who die daily as you do. Those too vulnerable to die alone.