Sight of the Fly 2016-39

Poised upside down, its facetted eyes peered at

the creature below, watching, waiting

A man sat below, with staring sightless eyes, his chest

rising up and down, the only obvious sign of life

A grandfather’s clock’s tick-tock, tick-tock

the only competition with the man’s slow breathing

In the corner of his mouth, an unfelt drool lingered

deciding whether or not to plunge to freedom

Past memories of joys and momentous events of life

playing over and over – the man’s daily entertainment

No sounds to intrude in his quiet thoughts, his deafened ears,

useless appendages, as is his forever darkened eyes

A canary starts to sing a seven-octave song, trilling loudly

unheard and unseen by the quiet man, but appreciated still

The man sat, slowly breathing, staring, and remembering

basking in a stream of sunlight and memories of the past

The fly loosened his suction cup grip from the ceiling

flew to the window to sit in the rays awhile

 

DON’T be like a fly to those that will soon die,

Give them comfort, at least, I pray………….

Den Betts