The Helpfuls

My eyes are getting weaker, Tho' I seem to see so much more. My days are getting bleaker, Tho' I laugh more oft than before. A laughter so unnerving, It seems an echo from the Dead, With off-key music serving To bait the phantoms in my head. I see the creatures Helpful, As they surround his final bed. They sway in rhythm woeful Of the transition close ahead. I step aside; I'm knowing That they don't want me in their way. The tension keeps on growing. I simply bow my head and pray. I feel the body leaving, But see it still upon the bed. My heart begins its grieving. His soul is gone, but he is dead.