You see it’s not the end which bothers me
death is a moment, a comma in a sentence.
No the end is inevitable like a tree never to be moved.
It’s the twists, turns, babbling of human brooks,
but most of all it’s those youthful sprints we make
the hurried need, the biting words, and inbred fear
we see in others and the prejudiced nooses we make.
Sadness starts with fear of the inevitable tree.
We can, if only we try, soar above the poplars,
maples, oaks, and redwoods. Just strengthen your wings,
fly without prejudice nor malice into a universe
waiting with splintered mirrors above the tussle of conflict,
unkindness, bigotry, and fear.