Placid, waxen skin, shrivelling and yellow.
Sunken eyes that do not see,
Pale and glazed as ice on a pond.
Or the icing on a burnt cake.
Lips that cannot smile;
Dry, cracking and wrinkled,
From distant days spent laughing.
Hollow bones holding out.
Those sleepless nights spent sleeping.
Gnarled fingers clenched in pain,
Like cracking open walnut with walnut.
The mast is raised.
Sails are flying.
A faint breeze grows
And it’s time to go
I will soar once more; my shackles broken.
I breathe easy; so young, so strong.
The sun warms me through, hair shining, eyes glinting.
A new bud blossoming, a seed shooting through.
I am spring.
In death so alive.
LENBEN
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