Epitaph

I've seen the clouds that pass me by, their shadows cross my lonely face, reflections in a tearful eye, of happiness, there is no trace. I've seen the grave upon the hill, the one that's been reserved for me, it's just another space to fill, beneath a tired maple tree. I've known the dark-eyed creature, sleep, that gives me dreams on which to lie, it takes from me the hours I keep, a better friend I cannot deny. Tormented and sounds set free, in the twilight of my last breath, can I retrace my life and see, the darkened face of my own death? I hear the whisper in the gloom, a hinting voice, a haunting laugh, from the builder of my tomb, and author of my epitaph. Who is this stranger by my side, that puts my life upon a shelf? The truth is something I can't hide, is that this stranger is myself.