bitter old man

each day i sit
and watch the light
drain from your face
into the night

from concious mind
 into the deepest sleep
i hear those stutters
of the fear that creep

when my eyes open
 as i taste the wake
my first thought is of you
 and the next breath you take

as you stumble up
from your lay of state
i cant but wonder
 are you punished by fate

left alone
 in this barren place
forever cursed
 to wear this face

quietly pleading
 the morning away
that this may be
 your final day