in the end

when these hands
rest together still
blanched as paper
beneath poised pen
when these feet
have rounded
every blessed bend
and are raised in repose
when I am no longer
quiet with potential
but only quiet
tongue held by the time
no longer ticking
through my veins
when thoughts are final
no longer fleeting
when words
no longer scurry
to the page
and the notes
no longer sound
the limitless walls
of beautiful minds
let them at least say
something lovely
I have left
be it the blaze
of a blinding sun
or a whisper
against the dark
in the end
let beauty
lie behind

© Sarah Whiteley


  1. Beauty most definitely will lie behind. You’ve such a soul, Sarah – fabulous poetry and music. I hope this isn’t a poem of sadness for anything in your life. If it is – I offer you some hugs.



    1. Thank you, Val. And it’s not really a poem of sadness, for which I’m grateful. It’s more a poem of hope that what I do in this life will have some meaning when I’ve gone. Which is maybe what I think we all hope to have achieved, at least in some small way.



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