Final
By John Herlihy

He didn’t like the word;
But there it is:
Final.
It just sits there alone.
An old bone.

I
There is an air of finality about it;
You think there is no return.
No?
Never?
What happened to life’s sojourn?
You hear it and think: nothing else,
No near, no beyond.
Out fate is sealed;
It cannot be appealed.
It seems to mean the end.

II
Even the word “no” isn’t final;
It can mean yes.
It can bend.
Divorce isn’t final;
People get back together.
The seasons, the moon, the weather,
Nothing in life is final;
Things change, life is renewed.
It swiftly moves forward;
Sometimes it is subdued.

III
My school teacher once said:
That’s final!
But we continued to throw spitballs.
We told him nothing is final,
With spitballs, not with words.
Good-bye, you ask?
Not as final as you think.
We whisper it teary-eyed;
As if we have complied,
But even good-bye has a wink.

IV
Is death final?
Short answer,
Yes to death’s no.
Death is final;
It gives the word its meaning.
There is no turning back;
It is NO beyond all NOs.
It is rigid; it is absolute,
But for one small thing:
It isn’t the end.

Now when I hear the word,
I must smile.
I know.
There is no such thing as final.
It just melts, like snow.