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.