The props against the house (We are such stuff that dreams are made of)

This was a writing assignment...
I'm getting better at poetry on comand...I think.


We are young and new it the mornings
And almost there when the sunset finds our face
Forgotten
On the cusp
The tip of the tongue, and then gone
We wouldn’t have it any other way
Because they are what we want
Our lives
Our hope
Our very breath
Never a perfect end
And an end to all
We are hope for those whose end is inevitable
Inevitable, like they say ours is
But we don’t feel it
So we don’t believe it
Till it comes
But not to late
Because we are the end
The last
Those that will lock the door
And then be whole