The Final Page


IMAGE from Pixabay

The pen rests, the ink dry. I’ve run out of time, the sands are sliding my words into oblivion, my wick burned out. The last page is writ, and the message is out there. All I have to do is wait.

And wait.

No one comes, not to learn the lesson, not to save my soul. I rest here so long I grow impatient, then angry.

Wait til they dare step across the threshold. I’ll show them what’s meant by patience, persistence and perseverance. I’ll turn them to ash to add to my timer. I’ll light their flame and watch them as it burns down to nothing. I’ll show them the words that may have saved them if they had thought of me in time to act.

Time is nothing here. Not now.

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