Poetry: The End Has Not Yet Come by Micheal Ace

The book of Psalm was the last leaf on this tree
I ate the green and became a mint on your tongue.
You fortified your breath with my names
Then you fought the wind, and won.I became your lover's song before she found sleep
I became the better son your father never had
I became the book your children bought with your money
And read under your roof.

Then one night- at the time when the world was silent
My bones, tissues, muscles and organs formed another body
And my blood sailed them away from home.
I became an empty bird in a strange city,
A mad man at the cinema,
And a dead cripple at the beautiful gate.
I became a pimple on the face of a corpse.
You popped me- no pus, only my shadow wandering in the dark.
I tell you; till now, I still wander in the dark.

I lost a map, a rose, a blue dress, a box which contained her heart;
I lost a road, a raven, a face and how I want to look at sixty.
I have lost a lot of things, but I will find them back
If I don't lose myself
On the run.

For the end has not yet come.

Written by Micheal Ace