While you sit across from me,
bound in your wheelchair,
you watch the race,
like every Sunday afternoon.
The late-day sun streams
through the glass door,
dancing off every word i don't say.
My silent gaze wanders outside,
as i recall the days when
trivial concerns plagued my
juvenile mind.
Can i play on the beach today,
i would ask my mother,
blissfully unaware that
Life held greater worries.
Now, my burning question
hangs, reserved,
for i dread its assuredly
lethal response,
yet i know and you know
that your end crawls closer,
fearless of what it will
Forever take away.