One by one we leave here,
Not always as anticipated,
Nor in any sequential order,
But all eventually leaving here
Over time.
In the end it could be said
We are all just passing through,
Treading water,
Waiting to depart.
And if we are among
Those considered ‘blessed’,
Doesn’t longevity
Just mean in the end
That our loneliness becomes more apressed
Against our yellowing skin,
As we hang on dearly to the past
A terrible ache mounting in our heart?