Last Rites

And here am I

Last Rites

The evening sun dips

in a majestic golden bow

behind grey, forlorn

clouded, mountains;

but no silvery moon rises

to take its nocturnal

place.

No lit path

for he who slips

into shadows

of darkness.

I am sinking,

slipping deeper,

sucked into a bottomless

mire,

the thick slimy mud

mocking me

in anointment.

Beads of sooty sweat

coat my face and run

down furrowed cheeks

onto my lips.

Moist, burning rivulets,

mixed with the salty tears

of desperate, purple regret.

But from such brackish water

there is no quenching.

And so I thirst.

Thirst for answers.

Thirst to see another dawn,

to hear my children at play

again, and know that now

they are free from the pull

of my gravity.

But I cannot see in this tomb.

I cannot hear my daughter's voice

or see the smile of my

much beloved son's.

And here I cannot feel

your warmth,

nor taste your breath.

It's so hard to breathe now.

Such putrid air

rasps and rattles in my lungs,

as slowly the beating ends.

And I have no weight left

as I rise up,

and am gone.

 

31/01/17

Reviews

[DIVYA]

What a terrible and dark thing death is. This is what must be 'The valley of the shadow of death'. And at the brink of death how desperately we'll wish for another dawn with our children. Something I don't even notice when I am still here. Thanks for such an eye opener!

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you Divya. It is the bleakness of death that has me thinking to enjoy each hour of every day.

[DIVYA]

Today is all we have...You are most welcome John.