The Window

The Window

To Death; slow procession files
siloettes from another life
in time to dull distant chime
low toll of the funeral pyre.

Alone within fast fading night
figures pass in gas'ed lamp light
cradling life, close, in tender arms
helpless, to their, 'pending harm.

Through slight cracks in this dull pane
they bow, as these words, 'pon white page
and in this silence of my rage
my sight holds out, I come of age.