Endless Epilogue
In its memory.
Every day is its own story;
or at least, that's what they've told me.
Yet by stories lived, when you turn
the page, you find yet another
line: this, an endless epilogue.
It doesn't seem to matter that
the eulogies and epitaphs
are over with, so say the dawn:
"My story ended when you went
so far away, forever gone."
But should the day come, and for that,
I persist; that this wound closes
I'll treasure the scar left behind
Something to remember you by
As I live new stories again.