DEATH Poem: remembering the sunsets, by Holly Palmer

i

Fragile.
Withered fingers grip the side of the chair
As old as she. Almost as worn.
Forlorn features zero in on me.

‘Does it always happen this way?’
She says, as she looks away,
Past me and to what her future brings-
Things didn’t seem as bad as then.

I can’t nod, though she sees
From how I look down,
That I intend to.
We all knew that this was it.

The sun always nods.
Mocking the strength I didn’t have –
Downwards into the darkness,
But rising again to the zenith.

I could never bring myself to follow.
Whilst it may die,
It rises again soon.
The moon doesn’t get to be forever –
Nothing does

Author: poetryfest

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