How To Kill a Muse (A Morning Epilogue)

Here's to the dreamers who woke
The visionaries gone blind
The families destroyed
And the peacekeepers who died
I mourn for you

The traumatized vet
The motherless child
The innocent prisoner
And The insomniac at night
I mourn for you
I really do

But what could be more tragic than love collapsed
Two imperfect halves, making a perfect whole
Not realizing their individual imperfections
Don't disappear as a byproduct of joining
And so they fracture, trying to become perfect somewhere else
Imagine the raw, beating heart, blood soaked and punctured
When confidants become enemies, and enemies become strangers
The sickness

But tragedy doesn't have to mean tragedy
Not exactly, at least
It's awful, I don't deny that
But if life is about creation and destruction
How can we embrace one, and deny the other
Will Rudra not show his face as the destructive element of God
Will that which is born not die

And if everything happens for a reason
And everything leads back up to the divine
How can anyone be certain of anything

And that's my epilogue
The ending to a book with more chapters than I can count
And I wish it felt like the ending of an epic saga, but instead
I'm looking down the mountain
And I realize

It feels like a cliff hanger