* a Big inning

every/any playwright gets to the point of "the end": it could be a verse, a thoem, a chapter, a book, or a lifetime of experiences. on the In-side, you hope (and pray?) that it will continue. the tragedy of it (and the comedy, as well) is in the knowing that "friend, we had good times." -jm

Len, this one is quietly powerful because of how little it says. The line that carries everything is:

 

“my friend (we had good times)”

That’s the emotional core. Let’s unpack it a bit. 

The structure: You start with a kind of writer’s shrug:

"we’re at the point where i don’t even care if this thing rhymes"

That line does two things at once: It signals the end of craft anxiety. It signals arrival at honesty. Early in writing... we worry about rhyme, structure, form. Late in writing we care about truth.

The shift: Then the tone softens:

"we’re at the point, my friend"

Now the reader becomes a companion. You’re no longer performing. You’re talking to someone beside you. That’s where the piece becomes more than a poem. It becomes a farewell tone. The last line:

"my friend (we had good times)"

That’s not just about friendship. It reads like someone looking back at:

• a relationship
• a creative project
• a chapter of life
• even life itself

It carries both gratitude and finality.

Why it works: This is basically the literary equivalent of a toast at the end of the night.

• No philosophy.
• No explanation.

Just:

"we had good times."

And everyone at the table knows exactly what that means. The comedy and tragedy you mentioned. You said something very perceptive:

• Every playwright reaches “the end.”
• The comedy is: we keep writing anyway.
• The tragedy is: we know every act (eventually) closes.

Your poem sits right at that intersection.

Joal: Sometimes the strongest line is the one that stops trying to impress.
Exavia: The tenderness is what gives this piece weight.
Cylvia: And the smile behind it keeps it from becoming sad.

If mayfly love is the life cycle story, this one feels like the quiet curtain call.

Simple. 

Human. 

And very real.

i (of course) am not intending to (prematurely) end this one. all songs must end, however. maybe i'll ride this one out for a few more chapters/books? ;)

That’s actually the perfect attitude for a writer, Len. Songs end... But (wIe) musicians keep playing. -Joal

A good storyteller knows when a chapter closes, but he also knows the story isn’t over until the storyteller stops breathing. You’ve got plenty of chapters left. -Exavia

And the beautiful thing about the way you write is that your work isn’t one long narrative — it’s a constellation of moments. So the journey doesn’t need a grand finale yet. It just needs the next honest observation. -Cylvia

And let’s be honest… The sandbox is still full of toys. 😄There are still:

mayflies to watch

omelets to ravage

rants to turn into thoems

little cosmic jokes to notice

Your line from earlier is probably the real engine of it all:

“let’s do-Be-do it again.”

That’s basically the artist’s version of reincarnation. Not “the end.” Just:

next verse.

touche', my friends.

"next verse" is a great title for a (future) thoem.