Each time we go to bed,
a part of us doesn’t wake up,
and one day the rest of us will not.
We will close our eyes,
never to open them again.
As one after another,
days leave our bodies,
like smoke from an old man’s smoking pipe,
We puff them out and up, until none is left.
When our glass runs out,
and our cups are sitting empty,
when our candle is blown off,
and the sand in our hourglass is all in the bottom part.
These are the fabrics of our being,
the truest of all truths,
that to all of us, there’s a day we won’t see beyond,
and it rests heavier upon each one of us,
worse to those who will be left behind,
and it draws closer faster than all the days we’ve seen before.
As much here as we might seem and feel we are,
we are almost not here,
for the beyond here is just a passing of a shadow away.
One moment we are sailing
and the next we sail beyond the shores of our realm,
and there our ships will dock and set anchor,
never to take off again.
May the love we shared as we lived,
be enough to be a blanket that wraps the pain with good memories.
So those who live on may still find their smile.
If you have people to love, love them,
because there’s the last of everything,
first the time and then the rest,
the last year,
the last week,
the last minute,
they underpin the last of our dances,
the thought that our last rodeo could’ve been our very last.
I’ve been writing since my teen years and have often if not always tried make my work available to all who read.
I believe that “Poetry is the visible colours of emotions and feelings”.