By Walking past a window
I see a grey old man.
Normal clothes, normal shirt,
a normal life.

Just a white shadow passing in the glass.
The sun is high but hidden behind an old sky.
Skin grey, the day low.

A broken branch, a leaf without a chance.

Do I wish I was young?
Youth brought illness,
sadness, happiness, joy.
Excitement once lived here.

Now death moves in and out like a whisper shouting quietly.

Help me.

Help me.

Sleep me.

Sleep me.

Let me escape

in the darkness

behind the eyes.

Should I go back

before the stress?

What would change?

Which turn would I take?

Only I

and the whole world

will know.

But what about

George.