Incomplete

It must be in the nature

of human nature

for relationships to end

incomplete.

Even in the deepest of knowing

secrets still creep

just beneath the surface;

tendrils of honesty

try to sneak

up vocal cords

and like weeds overgrown,

mysteries consume all common spaces,

leaving no room for truth.

Words left unsaid

flitter down

like fall leaves left to rot.

I wonder if the gasping

before one’s last breath

are the many stories left untold,

all fighting to rush off of one’s chest

to find peace in the either

just before they’re left trapped

in the final prison of the flesh,

released only as an after effect,

words carried on the wind

in a language only souls speak.