I pace back and forth.
This doesn't belong to her anymore,
all of her things stopped
belonging to her.
Is that what it means?
When she curled up on the hospice bed
and decided enough.
Things stopped belonging to her.
So I sit on the sofa she read the paper on
and I take naps
in her bed
with her pillows
that don't belong to her anymore.
How not to make death a cliche?
It happens all the time.
In calculating this constant loss the world suffers
I decided it meant a few things,
your body goes useless and with it all your senses,
and your things become some else's.
That's all thats been collected
as clear cutting fact.
Where do we go?
And when will everyone realize
that we have to leave? We have to change.
It's the burden I notice now above all else,
stuck with my senses and frustrated at
my frustration with them.
I want to praise my eyes and my fingers
for there work
but with such inevitable losses
how do we keep from cursing what keeps us here.
It may sound pessimistic
but we have heard
we are all dying, since yesterday and the day before.
I only wish it made every moment precious
instead I find even my love stagnant,
when there is so little time.
So I pace forth
under life and love,
the impatience screams.
Taking a calm breath will
not crete grace,
you are carrying
a loss that makes your shoulders weigh uneven
and absolute despair.
Such imbalance, and contradiction. It touches everything.
After studying death
I have no conclusion.