What's between the past and future, what's between life and death?
My eyes are groggy as I sit up on the bed. I scan the room, it is unrecognizable.
There's a photograph of my family framed on one of the walls.
All my achievements are plastered on the other wall, attached is a wooden chair and a table.
I make out the cover of a book on the table, that is when I hear the familiar sound of rain fall.
He's laying motionless in the cot,
He's breathing through a tube, but he's almost out of breath,
His eyes start to fade, the fear in my chest tightens like a knot,
The color of his skin changing as he's facing death.
As I move myself off the bed to stand up, I smell the fresh lumber of wood.
The room consists of four walls, a bed, a table and a chair, it looks banal,
I stare at my accomplishments and contemplate my life, the bad and the good,
There's a knock on the door to my left. As I walk toward it, I hope this will release me from my thrall.