The Warmth in Those Dying Years
As I'm watching you dress
You ask me to think about the future.
Laying in bed this morning, laughing a little,
I tell you this is not the best way to,
Start off our day it will only lead to,
Things we don't need to see, let it be.
Live in the moment, when the time comes we,
Will cross those bridges and hold each other.
As things will inevitably be different than we hoped.
You say it can't be that bad and I laugh,
It's a slow laugh, one that stumbles through,
My mouth and hits the air and hangs.
I sit you down and begin to paint the,
Picture that we will live in, I'm not a,
Psychic but a realist, sadly a realist.
We will be happy for awhile, we are
Young and have so much to live for with our,
Dreams and hopes and we are just so naive.
Our younger years are the final eve where,
The lights in our eyes seem infinite,
And the brightness in our smiles seem significant.
Perhaps we will be married and the steeple is,
About a mile high, it reaches the sky and stabs
The clouds and lets loose sunlight, our wedding day.
We will be bohemian, and struggle with money.
And if we are lucky, save enough for a house,
Maybe and perhaps soon after a family.
And we will buy this house with a choke in our throats.
We will walk through the rooms, the kids,
Will sleep here in their beds, We will eat here,
In the kitchen with the granite countertops,
This is the bathroom where we will hold our,
Children when they get sick, these are the stairs,
Where one will fall and break their arm. This is,
The living room where we will find our first dead pet.
This is the shower where I start losing my hair.
And this is the mirror where your wrinkles first appear.
In the dining room we will fight over nothing.
But it will seem like something and somethings are,
Nothing but you can't erase the words said outloud.
But this is the kitchen table where the words on,
A white piece of paper will mean the end of our,
Happy family. The divorce will drive our first born,
To an attempt at suicide and a lifetime of substance,
Abuse. He uses this time as an excuse to get back,
At mother and father who couldn't hold together,
A weak example for our first born child. I will never marry,
Again. Our broken family lives on like most, every,
Other day until they are older I will love our children,
And they will love me and you, but we will not love,
Me and you. And when I grow older and my gray hairs,
Are the tell tale sign of my own mortality.
You will not visit me in the hospital, but send your regards,
With our daughter who visits our first born in the next room.
It looks like you will outlive our son. And in my final
Days, and in my final moments - my life comes back,
To this single moment in this bed. And although you,
Are holding me now. I will reach out to you blindly,
My eyes unable to focus with the slowing of my heart.
And you will not be there like you are now.
Do not cry, please dry those tears. Hold me now,
While you still love me now. Will you still hold me,
So that I remember the warmth in those dying years?