Read Poem: No More Questions All Misleading, by George Poncy

He’s kind of old and kind of dying,
Something in his chest is giving way.
But he’s in no pain, just simply lying,
Savoring the twilight of his day.

His eyes are closed, he’s slightly smiling,
A wisp of memory brushes by.
The lap of waves upon the piling,
The smell of fairgrounds in July.

The stars of youth were somehow brighter,
The crisp of night was never chill.
The weight of caring seemed much lighter
The world around is growing still.

A nurse comes in to fluff his pillow,
He lets her think that he’s asleep.
He sees the sail unfurl and billow
On the shore she turns to weep.

His mind’s an album, turning pages,
Photos fading, tinged with brown.
Many plays on many stages,
He sees the curtain coming down.

He makes no judgments, seeks no meaning,
There are no labels for his files.
No more questions, all misleading,
He has come too many miles.

No one knows he’s in here dying
But if they did he knows they’d care.
He has no need to hear them crying,
It’s just as well no one is there.

Not too long before he sees her,
Somehow he knows she must be dead.
He’ll smile and hold her when he greets her,
Nothing needed to be said.

The day is over, night is falling,
No one hears him as he sighs.
Was it someone he heard calling?
A tear has fallen and he dies.