Essence’s Last Call

Rocks, many rocks falling down old planes
And into pits of empty flames,
That in once-vivid minds still remain,
But still in detail, not quite plain,
As they still carry hope and faded pain,
That can’t be erased, regardless of how heavy the rain.
As sorrow carries more than the laughter that tends to leave in time’s train,

As the best moments don’t get to stay,
No, just replaced by the next better ones that in front of our gaze stay,
For a bit, since by sand’s degree for the same ferry they have to pay,
And all memories, all thoughts have to fade away,
And only the everlasting feelings get to play,
The last unending tune of mental dismay.

But in the end, who’s to blame,
Who’s to charge for that last flame,
In the eyes of those who hold onto the last straw, forgetting shame,
Since keeping the worst, is better than letting sand win his game,

And that’s why the soul crawls after the last fall,
Since holding to that last anguish, is better than nothing at all,
And keeping that last bit of pride, is better than letting his eyes walk tall,
Because even if it’s on false pretense,
And even if it doesn’t carry even a small speck of sense,
At least, we get to think we got that last call,
During the act of perishing of our essence.


By: Jan M. Ramos

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