Atrophy

For too many years I have not lived with any passion I have smelled nothing, not a single flower, I have not heard the summer bird call out to his mate Nor enjoyed one single note of her reply How does the hour slip by so fast? These three years of unliving, I have known intimately only fear and doubt as constant companions Weary, I am the aching bones of my former self a dried husk, papery, abandoned Banished from me all traces of warmth winter walks constant by my side the wraiths of love's memory vanishing before my every step dissipate as breath into frosty air What use have I, for these eyes that do not see the beauty spread before me In the glut of spring I wither and fade left to await the day I too will become spirit torn from flesh flesh pulled from bone and parted before me the veil of Illusion as I step through.......