She taught me not to fear death
It’s just part of living
Now every time that I go and visit her
My soul hurts and heart sinks
She’s waiting to cross that bridge
Gone are the stories she used to tell
As far back as 1936
All the great details she could recall
Are now but soft flashbacks of mystery
I kiss her cheeks and forehead
Her smile and childlike eyes know who I am
The skin on her hands is paper thin
Soft and warm under blankets
Fighting the impending cold and darkness
An internal silent battle is raging
For a few minutes in the light and lucidity
She remembers people and places
Glimpses of a past life
Recollections of love and loss
Before they are tossed into an ocean of…of…
…memory drifting
her voice. has diminished to a whisper,
. struggling – to get the words out
like, broken echoes of…history
lost in time
mind slowly declining
.the. familiar.distortEd :
themusic has more_static ‘ * “.
…and it’s skipping .
^ little by little /
slipping… ~
into an abyss …
skipping
…|
fading
