Shadow Poem by Phil Mason

Shadow

There is a shadow standing at the foot of my bed.
Each morning, as the light seeps in through the cracks in the blinds,
I see him emerge.
Standing, simply staring with coal black eyes, clad only in a shroud
Scythe in hand.
Waiting for me.

At 73 I don't look forward so much as I look back.
There is a future, but there is far more history in my being.
At fading memories, lost loves, children, life, work,
and a youth once full of promise that slips further away
with each passing heartbeat.

For 18 years I have slept alone
Not of my choice, but by my decisions;
Decisions made not in haste, but with reflections on the pained reality
that love had left.
Only once since has love shined, briefly, only to fail, again, in my fractured realities.
All the pain of these lost loves bubble to the surface and are
burned ever deeper into my soul.
Drawing me deeper into a winter of solitude.

Now, alone, and battling a cancer that is slowly gaining the upper hand
I wake with my shrouded visitor simply waiting at the foot of my bed
Yes, he is here for me.
And yet
I smile, swing my legs out, stand and walk away.
Not yet my visitor, I have much to do.
You'll have to wait a bit longer,
I am not yet ready