The final letter
My sights are blurred as I rest my head,
Atop my pearl white pillow.
I take a peak at the garden outside,
As I gave a final glance at the willow.
It’s leaves drooped down its head down low,
As if it’s trembling, crying.
“Don’t be sad” but deep down I know,
That I’d be only lying.
I stare back up at my ceiling fan,
At the oil lamp resting near.
At the items that once shown me through darkness,
And lit away my fears.
I take up my phone with a fragile smile
As I looked through my texts back then.
Compared? I’d say I walked quite a mile,
But here the mile will end.
As I struggle to keep my phone up,
I let my hand fall past the bed.
The once white sheets that comforted me,
We’re now a deep shade of red.
The hour glass besides me is running out,
My final minutes about to end.
All the struggle the pain what was it all about?
But I hope with this act I’ll mend.
The curtain of my show, my stage,
Is about to close once more.
It’s the end of the book there is no next page,
So what was it all for?
I couldn’t change my past, nor future,
But maybe I could change yours.
The final act of the shows about to end,
But with it, new opened doors.
So here I lay in the red stained curtain
That signals the end of my play.
The end of the act, the end of my burden,
And the show will now end today.
Now as I close my eyes once more in my head,
I stir no more, for here I lay, still, quiet, dead.