The tunnel caved in and the sky began to spin
as it spat me out somewhere
in East Berlin.

Watching as the wall became a second curtain call
and the cast became the prisoners of war.

Everything in time is time,
which is the reason
and perhaps the rhythm
in the rhyme.

all I know and all
I will ever know
about what is unknown
will be shown to me
before the end.

© 2019, John Smallshaw.