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The moon passes the sun.
Morning bows out, all done.
Darkness unveils its grim poker hand
to the drum beat of the marching band.
A moment of blackness
brings fears of more darkness.
What if your life was all dark?
The sun never lefts its mark.
The mornings and nights the same,
bringing you mountains of pain.
No relief from the bleak cocoon
like digging your grave with a spoon.
Years fade and turn to dust,
your memory goes bust.
Trapped in walls of despair,
without holes for the air.
Is this living or not?
She is stuck in one spot.
Too afraid to venture outside,
a further blow to her lost pride.
She hides in the nursing home,
where she reaches for the phone.
“Help me,” she cries out.
No one can help out.
Lost in her dark cocoon,
where she fits like a spoon.
Waiting for death to take its flight
to a better place in the light.
Ron