The End

A poem of melancholy

By Nathaniel Jones, himself

Written the night before his 18^th birthday, November 28, 2001

THE END

Seems so very final,

Like everything following

Is not in truth,

But rather just an epilogue

To the story that came before.

Is the end the breaking point,

Or is it possible to continue

Onward into the future,

Without fear of inevitable change

Of body, of mind, of spirit.

Stage one is over.

Stage two ends today.

So what of tomorrow?

If youth is beauty,

Does beauty die with youth?

If beauty dies with youth,

What point is there

To continue after becoming adult?

The law decides who is adult,

And who is juvenile.

But law has no hold

Over the laws of nature.

Or so I like to believe.

Today is the end.

Tomorrow is the beginning.

Today is nearly over.

Tomorrow never dies.

If Youth is wasted on the wrong people,

Who is the person wasting the youth?

If old means dead,

Why do we want to be older?

So many questions.

None with answers.

Or perhaps all my questions

Will be answered by the passing of time.

The world is a beautiful place.

I see that now.

I knew that then.

Do I have to forget that,

Or can the beauty of the Earth

Live on inside my heart, my soul?

Beauty… is…

What?

Beauty is all around us.

I’ve heard that the mind is the first thing to go.

Is this true?

I’ve heard that the sense of wonder is the first to go.

If this is true, then the mind is logically the next to go.

After all, what good is mind, if it cannot feel wonder?

I suppose my questions will be

Answered tomorrow,

And if not…

I cannot stop tomorrow from coming.

So for myself when I read this tomorrow,

Or whoever else reads this whenever,

I wish to put down my message on paper,

For tomorrow I may not remember the message myself:

You are beautiful.

No one can take that away from you.

If ever you feel you are not loved,

Give me a call.

If ever you look around your room, and feel the weight of the walls,

Stand up, walk outside, stand in the light of the sun or moon,

Look into the sky and shout at the top of your lungs,

“I am here. I am alive. And I am free,”

I won’t always be here.

I won’t always be able to give you a pat on the back,

A hug. A smile.

I won’t always be able to remind you what a great gift it is to be alive.

But if you seek me, I can be found.

I will be in the trees towering above you,

In the dirt under your feet.

I will dance and laugh

As a wave on a tranquil sea,

And as you stand on the shore,

Let my hands reach out and wipe the hair

From your face,

And let me see you smile,

And I will smile back.

Remember me when I am gone, even if I am

Just gone for a moment.

And remember above all

That I love you.