one small dot
wth the power
to stop
a thought
a scream
a shout
a dream

one piece
of punctuation
like a wall
to drive
head-on into
like a sidewalk
to dive
life-first onto

only
the bravest poets
end their pieces
in such a violent way

only those
who can tolerate an end
and do not weep for the loss
of a thing now done
once sentient and alive
in passionate, grasping love;
only those
with a new hope
waiting in the wings
for the murder of the old,
a thing declared dead
with a point pounded
through a once beating heart,
would finish a poem
with a period