A few more minutes, or a few more days?
"I'm going to die" I insist to myself.
Placid smile on forlorn face.
When the chlorine and the bleach
      won't clean the white any more;
When the flavours and the food
      don't appeal in any sort of way.
"I'm going to die", I insist to myself.
Flagrant denial of mortality.

Time is fickle. It promises much
      but fails in its delivery.
"Will it hurt?" I wonder.
Or will I slip away quietly
      like water down the drain?

I hear early birds making their
insistent chatter noises against
      the backdrop of the dawn.
Traffic moving on the street.
People in cars on their way
      to where-ever they are going.
I sit on a park bench trying
      to absorb everything all at once.
"I won't be sitting here next year."
      I mutter in my head.

Lie down. Lie down.
Relax.
.Don't think any more.

"I'm going to die." I insist to myself.
       "Die and be here no more."

Sipping slowly of the
words as they falter
       through the mist.
How long is left is my world.
And this conversation with myself
       will not change a thing.

Silhouette over
silent pebble,
the reticent
showering of the
golden hue of
the hushed sun.
Feeling sober;
gathered in pictures
painted inside a room.

When, on darker nights,
the moonlight replacing
the serenading daylight,
and a soft rain is
being present, there the
stillness opens itself
to the kissing sounds
of the charcoal embers
in the fireplace.
And I learned, if only
in hindsight, that what
pressed on heart was no
concern of mine.
Plunder and ravaging
might be in every
circle, but here is only
where I am. Where I will
remain, composed
and assuredly agreeable.

Is dull or dry what
is being thought?
Are other messages
arriving that are
not delivered?
I'm not concerned.
I'm not bothered, or
worried. No, instead
I stay steady in the
melodious after-thoughts
of observation .

A seashell in the desert.
A piece of sand to a pearl.
A groaning, moaning,
population
is
stressing
about
a
war.
Does not matter which one.
There always is one happening
somewhere
on
this
"if I **** you,
it means we
are right"
planet.
Solemn faces in the news,
bewailing
this
or
that
atrocity.
Shaking heads on couches
certain their
propaganda is correct.

But wait. In these
murderous
places,
I hear
the
children of the morning
waking up afraid.
Nervous little eyes
dimmed
by
the
rubble
they
share.

Tick Tock, you ****** clock,
what is your hurry?
System overload.
System shutting down.
The
aches
and
pains
a
tumbling
sound.
In the shadows of the dawn
is where the floating telephones
are constantly ringing.
Do not answer them.
Put
the
outside
world
in
its
place.
And hear the tinkling chimes
announce the
beginning of the end.
Tick Tock, you ****** clock,
what is your hurry?

My Jesus, I trust in You.

This I say with my lips.
Jesus, my fear betrays this.
I am weak,
         weak,
           so very weak.
Tears that trickle
from within my soul
    do not put faith
       in You.

Help me, Saviour.
    Mercy, please
    show me mercy.

I am reminded
of strong devotion;
precious confidence
        felt for You.

Lead me back to this.

      Lord, there is
an illness in my body.
A physical weakness
      that aches in its
        yearning for
          Your truth.

I surrender.
       I submit.
My Jesus, let
     me give this
     sickness to You.

Lay it on Your altar,
    lay it at your feet.
Release it from me,
    remove the doubts.

My Jesus, I trust in You.

Lord, make me a vacant basin,
one that is to be congested with You.
Grateful for each day given me.
Thankful for ever blessing acquired.
For though this body, Lord, is
decaying and terminally corrupted,
it is my essence given by You
that is forever my place of living.
Let me remember the struggles,
along with the triumphs, that
You have given out to me.
For though earthly experts
claim but a certain amount of time,
I know they do not realize that
time exists only in this realm.
Forever Jesus, forever. This is
what You have opened for me.
Let me arrive with a happy heart
into the Kingdom You proclaimed.
I am scared, but not of Heaven.
I fear the pain and the unknown.
Will it be a long slow dying?
This I do not know. With this
in mind, I prepare myself for
whatever it is I must endure.
Knowing that You will be there,
both the in the process and
in the beginning of the new life.
Lord, these are but words I
write to express my thinking.
They attempt to capture the
introspection that seems to
now be the centre of this phase.
I offer them up for Your ears,
knowing they will be understood.
In this malignant community,
of which I have citizenship,
the months are carefully counted.
The day will come, yes it will,
when the last breath will signal
my sudden awakening to You.
Lord, may I be ready.

The hardest part is the night.
Movie on, volume low, as I try to sleep.

Trying is not doing.

Pretend the city traffic sounds
are sounds of other people
trying to sleep. Each, in
our own way, as hopeless
as the other. They are
wondering where the
other cars are going,
and so am I.

Where do we go? Where,
if in fact, we never leave
the places we are at.

Turning, Tossing.
Eyes closed. Brain open.

A man is shouting on the street.
Words indistinct, but anger
clearly present. Why do
we get angry so easily?
Why can we be so
flippant and intolerant?

Hiding. Bodies, masked
in faces of temporary smiles.

What are the wishes,
the requests, of the
smiles driving the cars.

If I had one request. One
magic wish to use above
any others. It'd be to
sleep peacefully in
the pattern of the night.