Lying back, staring at the ceiling,
Trying to ignore her illness,
She imagines concentric spheres
Radiating out from the stillness
Of her room, her sickly fears
Temporarily forgotten
By the vision of others, everywhere,
All happy, bored, or misbegotten,
All breathing the same Earthly air,
In various the states of decline,
Or growth, which we all share,
In the portions our fates assign.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment