Breaking of the Bones: III

Breaking of the Bones: III

It wasn’t meant to be torture, or so I’m told
It is just a simple case of getting too old
Legs shaking, bones quaking before they fold
Skin fading to paler shades and growing cold

I don’t want to face this demon, not now
I’m not battle-born, I know not how
It has no face, just an idea we endow
I’m terrified, I cannot lie, this I avow

I feel my strength draining day by day
Simple things grow harder as I decay
My loved ones, they know not what to say
Perhaps this is just the price we all pay

I’d scream in agony if I thought it would help
Yet I hardly seem capable of a meager yelp

I suppose I’ll fade into memory soon
Oh this fate to which none are immune.

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Posted on February 7, 2014, in Dark, Loss, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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