Last Visit
Lying on a bed
With a sheet over its face
The body of someone I knew
Lays lifeless.
I pull down the sheet,
Uncover the face
And look at how death
Leaves us all.
Still.
Cold.
Eyes, open, still blue and beautiful,
Staring but not seeing.
Mouth, open, frozen in a perfect zero,
With only darkness inside.
The soul, gone.
The spirit, gone.
The light of life, gone.
I pull up the sheet and cover the face
Of the person I once knew
That is now
Just a body on a bed.
Still.
Cold.
Roy W. Backes
© 2018
Roy W. Backes - Poetry 