Going Home to die
Put out to pasture, where the parched grass turns
Yellow and the earth turns brown once again.
Preparing the sofa for sleep,
A fading chance to live in the nothingness of a moment.
The green and maroon fabric hides the sweat, while
The air cools the pillows for the next round of pain and rest.
I wait for the unseen birds' chatter of the day,
Tending their young who peer out the nest at the endless sky.
Angry and hungry they yell at their unimpressed mother
Who accepts life as patience and love.
Loneliness travels yet is nowhere,
The constancy of the moment.
Who can remember
All the laughter or the truth?
There is no moment,
My presence fades
As the brown turned pasture passes
And the birds call,