Work in progress

As I sit working on my last farewell ride a voice from nowhere comes up and says,

You’re searching, Joe,
For things that don’t exist; I mean beginnings.
Ends and beginnings—there are no such things.
There are only middles.*

*In The Home Stretch by Robert Frost

The lonely farewell

Guilt for life?
Or is it?
She came late and we were getting late -
Should it have been this way?
Could it have been any different?
Why am I always the one left with the guilt?
Guilt for life –
Or is it just the fleeting, momentary kind.

It’s always me stuck here
In the middle.
Whispering lonely farewells.