Poem

I promised a Poem, but first:
I don't like this poem. I'm in a big mood to write. But this is odd.









 I sit outside
and look at the sky,
grey, with rain,
like the tears streaming
and hitting the paper,
of the ending I couldn't write
out of every story,
every happily ever after,
this one remained without the
two words, so famous,
because they end,
and now I
write them, but the story is not finished.


And I leave you with this profound question: Why?