Her eyes are blank like glass stones
And I have no words to soften them.
Panic and pain paint her visage gravely.
I think she can still see me,
But in her insanity nothing registers.
Decrepit vessel of lost wisdom;
Empty orbs with no more vision,
This is worse than death.
It is a slow loss with creeping expectations.
It is a deep cost that clears my pockets,
And empties my reserve of will.
This is grief in the eyes of the giver,
And grief in the eyes of the receiver;
Sorrow for the lost and for the ones
Who are bound to leave her.
In short breaths this is goodbye.