© Birte

“I Come at the End”

I was not there
when the first spark hissed in the darkness,
not there when hands reached for fire
and teeth tore into flesh.

I did not sit at the first campfire,
did not count children,
did not fight for territory
nor ride the surge of the beginning.
For my place is not the start.

I did not come to hunt.
I came to remember.
Not to rule,
but to witness,
quiet, clear, awake.

I am not made for the raw push
and sweat of new beginnings.
I am woven from the threads
that know the end.
I carry the memory of times
when love stood above power,
and awareness burned brighter than fire.

I am not lost, I wait.
I wait for the moment
when the animal in man is full,
when the earth begins to sing again,
when words turn to water
and hearts remember
they were made of stardust
and not just hunger.

I will come then,
at the end.
To savor.
To refine.
I will come
when the dance grows quiet
and the soul is invited back to the table.

Then I will sit
and speak
of all we once knew.

Love B.B.