Four score years and ten?
Lying awake the darkness not complete,
I stare to see the shapes around.
There is no sinister form lurking near the door
just a hatstand overloaded with the veneers of
Eventually I see almost as clearly as
in daylight, but colours have drained.
I want to believe in an after-life, then again I don't.
Knowing my luck so far what comes next
will be worse not better.
As a child I sat waiting for the dawn
hoping that death would not come.
I thought that growing up would mean
a calmer me.
I thought I would have some insight
which would give me strength to quell the fears.
I'm still waiting.