The End

 

Maybe the end is a beginning

since nothing ever stops.

Rocks are beehives of molecules

whirling, buzzing and circling.

 

Am I a hamster on a wheel?

See things I wanted to be

crumble like rock to sand

beside the sea.

 

Not noticing treasure chests

of red rubies and gold

handed to me

unknowingly.

 

Perhaps my sputtering jalopy

heading toward a cliff

will shape shift to Maserati

and race into the night

on my way to somewhere.