Jagged

When does it become too
late to want?
When does dusk absorb the sun?
When is the time for
letting go,
the time to turn
and run?
When comes the time
to cast the dirt
and bluntly look away,
to swallow whole
the stony words
that no one wants
to say?
I'm watching white wings
turn to black,
a bubbling well turn dry,
And I'm listening as the empty air
fills with endless
mourning cries.