• navoneil 11w

    Losing My Way

    These days I'm a whisper of myself
    Growing shadows on my soul -
    I cloak myself in light, and I hide in solemn glee;
    I call it meditation but I'm really fast asleep.
    No, Death is not serene -
    Don't call it peace. Just let it be!
    Make up the words on the fly - let them breathe
    Free of meaning. Don't call it
    An eulogy - there's no such thing.
    And paradise? An Eden lies within, or is it fading?
    My hearing isn't good these days, my listening worse still -
    I'm ageing between rooms.
    Inside I'm putrefying, and the youth - they're a' leaving.
    I feel I can shout with all my might but it's just a whisper -
    A slight breath of wind, and its passing.