Colin F. Jones

THE END

In the end, despite what we have done we die
Our purpose faded with the decay of dreams
All those moments shared by you and I
Vanish, as do the moons brief silvery beams.
Cruel life is but a painful trek to death
That has no purpose that, with purpose, shows
A reason why a living man draws breathe
or why such vain hope so brightly glows.
Ah! Wondrous life! A false translucent light
Is but a beauteous shroud of cruel deceit
That hides the truer nature of the night
Wherein death stalks on callous dainty feet
All that we love but withers and decays
Leaving nothing at the ending of our days