The Bed

The death bed sits in the corner of a dark room.

A single window lights the way and a wilted flower flops in its vase.

Silence is what the room is made of.

Coldness is the only thing you will feel.

Shadows creep across the wall.

Shadows from what, you don’t know.

You gasp and look to your family.

It is your end and you know you must go.

Don’t weep for me. Don’t cry a single tear.

I lived my life and fulfilled my purpose.

The room grows bright as an angel of God appears.

“Take my hand” she says and you follow.

It is beauty.

The death bed sits in the corner of a dark room.

Cold and dark.

Just like my heart.

Author's Note

An old poem I wrote. Tell me what you think.