Gnarled

A creaking spinning wheel,

spun by gnarled withered hands,

an old woman's knobby voice,

caressed the dry baked lands

Glowing pink sky, a blushing girl’s setting sun

Now clouds deepen to blue twilight.

While that aged bent voice crooned-

Her hoarse expressions of night, light and right,

Her vigil forever kept.

See the old mountains?

The faded roads?

Newly naked fields cut by a slithering necklace?

I finally know.

My story will end, must end

The ghosts will engage in their dances,

My time will fall, the curtains will close

And there will be a last conclusion to my chances.

I leaned back,

Her fingers glide up my face,

She chuckles her rasping giggle as she dried my eyes

She already knew my fate.

I answered and she smiled

waiting as I struggle to frame my heart.

“Thank you for my life. For every single moment of it.”