to all who looked
could bear to look
he was diminished
a skeleton of man
the faintest stamp
a vague tattoo upon
earth’s crusty dermis
his ink near finished
vibrant shades now
faded by his hands
a pencil etch-a-sketch
self-erasing shaken with
each dram and draw he took
a tracing watercoloured
in a wornout painting book
a disappearing frame on which
the cloth of life was worn
to disassembled threads
eliminating, obsoleting
even with each breath, he dreads
the final phase, the loss of vocal chords, the emptiness, the void of words – the stoking fear as death draws near, the absent smile, an unchecked tear – the fatal blow that takes him from those loved, those lost – the furtive reek encroaching, the avalanche, the bitter cost – the vapour misting, the misfiring heart, the solemnities, those torn apart – the shitting and the palour, the wasted times – the pungent puke of silence, he could taste the signs – his shell, it crumples, crumbles, vanishes and then – his one enduring, fleeting, ever-breathing thought that he should live, and live again – denying not his errors nor his sins long past – he sits, transfigured, mute, disfigured, and awaits his last-
behind the neutral mask
the fading screen
the maybe thoughts
of one still barely living yet
the might have beens
the deep regrets
desire to delay
the realisation
he cannot stay
a dying friend
and his careworn wife
the thoughts of death
the longing for life
no substitute
no greater bond
he sits and waits
for the not-so-great beyond
no consolation
in the years he had
too soon departing
husband, dad, grandad
a face resigned
while his heart’s aflame
no, no consolation
and I, I cannot him blame
for in the journey
we will never know
the choices taken
nor our time to go
scottishmomus 