I sit here staring - while you’re wearing away, declaring your trapped words behind chapped lips, your skin now weathered and leathered,    while your mind is treasured-  as you transcend through life through your fingertips,  teaching me to live the same.

I sit here staring - never knowing your mind while still feeling bound,  to the pound of your heart. Your hair now in the foreground now white as the tips of the summit, you used to go around.

You sit there - shaking and aching as you live on borrowed time. Your art still breathtaking, as you work at a painstaking speed, shaking with each line. I’m now notetaking as you’ll soon be forsaking us,
as time is coming for your strong quaking heart.