Atrophy
For too many years
I have not lived with any passion
I have smelled nothing, not a single flower,
I have not heard the summer bird call out to his mate
Nor enjoyed one single note of her reply
How does the hour slip by so fast?
These three years of unliving, I have known intimately
only fear and doubt as constant companions
Weary, I am the aching bones of my former self
a dried husk, papery, abandoned
Banished from me all traces of warmth
winter walks constant by my side
the wraiths of love's memory vanishing before my every step
dissipate as breath into frosty air
What use have I,
for these eyes that do not see the beauty spread before me
In the glut of spring
I wither and fade
left to await the day
I too will become
spirit torn from flesh
flesh pulled from bone
and parted before me
the veil of Illusion
as I step through.......
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