My turn
It is my turn now,
too early some might say,
while wondering how to explain.
Breath is leaving me,
like syrup
tapped from maple trees.
What image
will be the last
to rest on my eyes ?
What tune
will be in my ears
when all sound escapes me ?
What thoughts
will seek harbor in my mind
when I am abruptly disconnected ?
I will not know
before it´s to late to tell you.
Who was I,
or am I still ?
Do I still count,
even if the outcome is given,
or am I already
a fading memory of happy days ?
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