Numbered Days Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Relaxing in a bed of pain, trying hard not to feel it
stabbing me, without much success.

Looking ahead, focusing over grey and black clouds
smogging up my mind, taking away my will to continue
in a desperate way.

Seeing friends, watching them dance and enjoy life
with one another, all much older, yet they can move
around better than me.

Why must my days be numbered any less than another?
Haven't I put in enough time to allow me to stay a
little longer?