In the end

What do I have to say
At the end of this long journey
24 hours come and gone
Now, here, at the last
I am stumped

I try for something in form
Searching for a sentence
Not wanting to rhyme
But maybe just make something

I am at a loss
Dear reader
I am tired and weary
Three months have taken their toll
Like few have done

The rest of this year promises to take a toll
And next year is already considering its options
Like a chef picking the perfect knife blade
How best to carve this beast
That lies in their kitchen

That’s not for now
Too much thinking will be dangerous
But we are writers and poets
Our minds are already dangerous
And have thought through a hundred scenarios by now

And so, dear reader
At the last I leave you with this
We have bled on paper for the last several hours
Unlocking the things we keep buried deep
I hope it was freeing

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