The Pulse

The pulse
of life
Skips a beat
Now and then
Taking
Its toll.
Slowly
We follow.
A long
procession
To pay our
Respects.
Awaiting
Our turn
The wind
Picks up
The lonely
Cry of
Lost souls.
The wailing
Is unbearable.
Still we
Listen
And wait.
Tears flow
From other eyes.
Never mine.
I've been
Here before.
And still
I remain.
Untouched.
Am I?
I've felt
The cool kiss,
Icy embrace.
Still I am
Here. Alive?
Not alive.
Aware.
Fearless
Fearful
As the
Pulse of
Life skips
A beat now
And
Then.

I wrote this as a teenager and the quality is not a reflection of the writer I am now, but the writer I was becoming.