one loses
the ability
to
sleep
with
awareness
every
event
and
sound
is magnified
in
the late hours
of
one’s existence
it is then
when
the
pulsing of blood
through
veins
can
be
counted
like
grains of sand
in
an emptying
hour-glass
where
each falling grain
echos
memories
that
replay
the events
of
our life
a life
where
options
were possible
and
paths
were taken
to
where we are
now
aware
seeing
more clearly
the lies
broken promises
and
preprogrammed dreams
of
what life
should be
but
could
never be
so
we lie
in our beds
in
a fetal position
just
before
we
die

© 2017, poem and illustration, Charles W. Martin

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