Slowly.
Slowly the day goes by
as I watch from my window.
Gone, gone are they.
All I’ve come to know.
The ones who watched me grow.
Day by day,
I watch my hair fall
brittle and grey.
Alone in bed,
with a tired body
and a sharp head,
I watch it all go.
Slowly, slowly,
through the seasons.
I watch it all go.
And now,
as I read my own story,
the book reaches backwards
towards its cover.
And I ask myself,
am I still welcome in this bed?
Slowly,
my world
loses its shape.
Slowly,
I savor
my final page.
I hold these final lines
as I hold my spot in time.
Alone
without those
who’ve seen me grow.
Alone,
but before me
these masked faces show.
On each one,
two beating eyes
begin to glow.
Life reaches for me.
Even now,
life reaches for me.
My page widens
as my eyes open
ever so slow.
On I go,
unfinished,
reading a world
I no longer know.
