The End

It wasn’t long, the end.
A knife stab on a dark night;
An oil patch on a bend;
A roll one night in bed
Or powder sniffed for hell;
And hell is where we went.
It wasn’t long the end.

It wasn’t quick to start.
A slow plod all the way,
A steep climb all uphill
To happiness and peace,
Which called from far away;
Quite lost from sight, concealed,
But close, unseen, unknown.

It then took work to grow.
By sweat, by brick, by book,
To fill our empty minds
With wisdom of the years.
Experience passed on
To save us their mistakes.
All that took years to learn.

That life seemed dull but sure.
A routine kind of time,
But happy times with hearth
And dog and child and wife.
A secure and loving life.
But it’s not long, the end.

It took one careless step,
A gin soaked mind and then
That effort’s lost behind,
So from a paraplegic’s chair
Or under a cardboard box
It’s no good crying “I didn’a Ken”
For that is always the way of men,
It never takes long, the end.

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