I am crossing the bridge

Of no return, and I always

Cast wistful, longing looks

Back, even despite others

Telling me not to, it would

Be too painful, and I am 

Going to another land,

A step closer to my final

Ending, and I always wish I

Cherished my moments in

The past more before I had to

Cross this bridge, and alas, I

Can do nothing but look

Forward, moments of nostalgia

Being my only souvenir brought

From the Before, songs looping

In my head, ‘cause it makes me

Feel young…I wanna feel something

Again, and I keep a smile on my

Face despite not wanting to, I

Feel anything but, and everyone

Smiles, even when they all know

That smiles were from the Before

And After, all of them are fake…

Storms and haze fill my view

Of up ahead, and I wish I had

Enjoyed the sunshine Before

With rain endlessly drumming

A never-ending routine, where

No one ever stops to wonder

If happy moments can ever

Occur in the After, and if they

Are not held by fake smiles,

And those wondering moments

Are what keep some of us going

Somehow…for the Before has

Ended, which I wish I had

Cherished, and the After ahead

Looks gloomy, and maybe I

Should cherish my time on the

Bridge while I can…

endings taste like biscotti--

the last cookies we shared at the lunch table-- 

and they crumble the same way, 

slipping through your fingers,

until there's only scraps to feed 

the crows hopping around campus.  

 

endings have the same scent as wisteria--

the flowers that bloom above our study spot--

and they're fragile in the same way.

a strong gust of wind sent you spinning away, 

out of this sad town,

the same fate those purple petals saw 

as the spring breeze tore blossoms apart. 

 

endings echo in my ears like the sound

of cards slapping your desk--

our only source of entertainment in free period--

and they flutter to the ground slowly

the same way we fell apart, 

quietly, deliberately, softly, 

slipping on the linoleum floor,

until you're lost beneath the bookshelf, 

and I'm on my hands and knees. 

 

endings feel like your gentle hands 

brushing against mine--

the last time we touched-- 

and they leave me cold the same way 

it felt when your fingers pulled away. 

we never knew warmth until it had come and gone, 

right?

or maybe that's only me. 

 

they told me spring was a season of beginnings, 

but the boxes in your room are a cold contrast to 

their paper thin platitudes. 

they never said how endings can taste so sweet yet

still burn your throat as they go down.

i'm not quite the biggest fan of this one, but... 

i don’t know why i’m writing this, 

hundreds of people will see 

this, but not a single one is 

you — yet i can’t seem to 

put down the pen — and 

i don’t want to. 

you would know all about this 

after all, you wrote thousands 

of pages, inked in pitch-black 

grief — countless nights, staring 

into the bright light of an unsent 

email, always different, but it 

began with the same words —- 

i’m sorry. 

why did you say those words? 

you are apologizing to someone 

who is no longer there. 

yet you will still remember 

their faint shadow, and it 

will feel like they are still there 

even though they are not. 

you will remember the way 

they played the piano, and the 

ghostly melody of their 

favorite song will forever 

haunt you, and you will 

find yourself humming it on 

slow afternoon shifts 

while the coffee maker 

runs in the background 

and you will find yourself 

wanting to cry. 

you will remember the way 

they told you your singing was nice, and 

you will never sing for anyone else 

because they will say it sounds 

beautiful, enchanting, and 

for a second, you see them

standing there, smiling at you 

but it will always be a 

trick of the light, and you 

will find yourself 

wiping away tears. 

you will remember 

their perfection— were they 

even real? the thousands of 

pages you wrote, praising them 

the paintings of them, locked

away in the back of your closet, 

you will want to burn them, but 

how could you? those are 

the only memories left 

and you will never write 

or paint for anyone ever 

because that was something 

you did for them, and you can’t 

bear to see them replaced. 

you were loved once, 

you loved once, and

you wish to be loved 

once more — but 

this is the ending 

of the story. 

endings are painful— 

they have always been, 

a last goodbye as you 

walk away, but 

there is something more painful 

and the streetlamps flicker on and off 

orange candles dancing in the darkness 

just like candles, they die, and leave 

behind them trails of gray smoke, 

clouds floating in the sky, in the end 

you feel water on your face, and you 

know they are tears, but you can’t tell if 

they’re the clouds’ or yours? 

you feel like you’re drowning, and 

maybe you are. 

endings hurt, more than 

words ever could, and the 

types of endings that 

hurt the most… 

when they slowly 

drift away, like cranes 

floating away, into 

the clouds— and you 

can only stand there, 

helpless, wishing, 

begging, praying, 

that they would 

come back, but 

they never will. 

endings, endings 

why does there have 

to be an ending? they 

smell like the sweet 

scent of coffee, 

in the morning, 

they taste like the 

sweet loquats in 

the backyard, and 

yet they leave a bitter 

aftertaste, as if there’s 

something more, that you’re missing? 

missing you, missing them, 

missing your world, and 

missing the beginning. 

endings are never truly 

an ending, not to this — 

rather, they are a period 

of mourning, of grieving— 

how could you forget them? 

in all their perfection. 

how could you forget? 

i wish i could forget. 

why can’t endings, 

end all the nostalgia? 

the longing for the past. 

endings, endings, endings— 

are they truly the last page? 

no, no, they can’t be—

i can’t forget these memories, 

even though sometimes 

i want to, i have to remember— 

it can’t end— 

you. 

 

This is from my Google Docs so thats why the fonts weird

 

The brush of cold wind

And even colder air

The jaded grass 

Alabaster skin

Storm grey eyes

Flowing amber hair

Spilling down shoulders

Like waterfall

Abyssal black road

Streaks of vivid yellow on road

Early morning-

Too early

Grey sky like doves in flight

Fluffy cotton clouds

Hunger in stomach

Like always

Serenity here

Like sometimes

Tranquillity of mind

Like almost never

Full, cold lips

That usually lay still

Twitch, curl

Into the making of a smile

Icy, smooth hands

That never rest

Finds flower

Dandelion-a white puff

A symbol of hope

Twists, flicks

Explodes in an explosion of cloud volcano

A flicker of brief joy

Memories of summer

Nostalgia for warmth

Hands fall-

Cold again

Lips frown-

Still again

Heart beats-

Still warm

Aching for the days 

Of freedom

And flight

And for just a little more-

Truthfully a lot more

Love

Of those forgotten, broken shards

Of porcelain days

That shattered

So long ago

 

 

Thanks for the poems, everyone!

Here's our honorable mentions:

AvaraStar: the short lines and lack of either great fear of excitement add a dreamlike tone I find so interesting! You take an approach to a well-tread topic that I've never seen before and wander through it with such confidence and uniqueness. Your decriptions of different "ends" are all lush and vivid, carrying your reader through both uncertainty and beauty. 

themysticwolf: you impress me with your ability to write such a long poem; I usually run out of steam so fast! it all feels so stream-of-consciousness while also being very articulate and lyrical, which is a difficult battle to strike. This balance continues in the way your stanzas flow from topic to topic, feeling like separate snopshots in the same nostalgiac album. the repitition and increasingly desperate tone are exellent!

CelineBurningBright: this is such a relatable piece about how hesitating to leave one's comfort zone can result in such regret. you really feel for the speaker and their journey through the casual tone and the mounrful italicized section. the various capitalized words also bring a certain weight to the piece that would have been neglected otherwise.

Third place: Moon Wolf! Your concepts of "before" and "after", as viewed from the bridge between, are such interesting ways of quantifying regret. these concepts are reinforced so perfectly be the italiczed sections, with different viewpoints fighting with each other over an unavoidable journey. the lack of periods or punctuation beyond commas really solidifies this feeling of traveling through the unknwown while carryinf both memories and regret.

Second place: Amethyst! the structure of this poem is very intuitive and almost calming; it's like rewatching a cozy movie and still being enthralled by its every scene. your first line and first stanza are incredibly eye-catching and serve as a fabulous hook, as well as setting up your talent for  beautiful figurative language and sophisticated language. including various parts of nature as a motif is brilliant, since the cyclical nature of life is so emblematic of your message; that the bittersweetness of endings is purposeful.

First place: peppermint! the most magical poems are those that have painstaking intent behind each and every choice; I can see your carefulness in every word choice and every line break. the mirrored structure of most of the stanzas is afantastic way to introduce such satisfying comparisons and then follow them up with incredibly investing and deliciously described snippets of the overall story. I feel like I know this friend without ever being told of their traits or appearance; I know the bitterness of this parting merely through these vingettes and the tangible distance growing between the two people within them. you've hit all the right notes with this one. I feel like I could read it twenty more times and still marvel at something new each time. amazing work!