Alex Garr

The young man in the city wears all grey
As he sits in a decrepit bed
With grey draperies hanging over a grey window,
With grey clouds hanging low in the grey sky.

He lays back in pain,
In never ending agony.
It has numbed his body,
Has become a companion
That he refuses to befriend.

He tries to stay awake for as long as possible,
Trying to hold off the inevitable.
He knows it has never been done before,
He knows that Death does wait
In the Darkness of his nightmares.

He waits in pain
As it tortures his body
His mind
His soul.

When next the world awakens,
He shall not,
As he fights to the end.

The old man in the village wears all white
As he sits in a featherbed
With white curtains over a stained-glass window,
With pink clouds hanging low in the orange sky.

He lays back in pain,
But no longer cares.
It is now his friend.
His beard has grown white,
But is still as luscious as ever.

He shuts his eyes,
Waiting for Death
To find him in the Darkness of his dreams.

He knows that all men must die,
And now he is ready.