Almost Finished
Stories with no endings
Journals stacked and sorted contain
stories with no endings telling
lies about the lives and deeds of
saints who don’t exist.
Projects started long ago with
urgency of purpose lay like
scenes from guilty dreams in dusty
piles upon the floor.
Quilts we framed from threadbare friendships
remnants worn by time and distance
seams we thought were strong, now raveled
tatters of our past.
Loves gone unexpressed withhold the
secrets that are better shared with
those warm souls for whom we’ve cared and
who have cared for us.
Happiness and comfort are like
rings of gold beyond the grasp of
arms outstretched and reaching past the
carousel’s bright lights.
Home is there, beyond the hills where
highways curve and detours wander
lands where ancient battles rage and
children beg for life.
