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.
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