The Beginnings Of A Deathbed Confession Poem by Matthew Holloway

The beginnings of a deathbed confession
~
He sits grey eyed
Tired, worn by years past
Skin like beaten leather
His voice deep, gravel like
Speaks slowly with a purpose
Talking of stories lived
Each pain and every loss
Whatever love conceived
He has known in his life
He has felt and witnessed
Too many regrets to care
Sorrow became a familiar friend
Who he resented
‘I know’ he says often
Talking of my thoughts
As though he were living them
There is nothing new found
There is barely anything at all
The human experience
Will always be a rough ride
His eyes look out blindly
As though calling on the horizon
That they may close
And he may sleep