My author of ten nibs wrote biographies on me then read in my eyes the prologue of our love. When God wrote her ending each time I cried I became unreadable, a tragedy of blank pages. I have to end to continue all she left me was chapters, and I will remain closed waiting for my end of days. Sunset falls like 'Seppuku', spewing its end from its swords of light as nights mackintosh waits Like a reaper I had prayed for But lived because I promised her. If only I were closed If only I were Sunset I could fall skywards Into your arms Where I could set spectacular And in my eyes you'd see 'The End'