'To Whom It May Concern'

I sit here in the semi-darkness,
And try to ignore this creeping weakness,
As I picked up my pen for this task,
I wondered, would this work be my last?
It is well after nightfall,
My bed beckons and calls,
But I pay that voice no heed,
Finishing this is something I need,
To the fates I demand,
Someone will read and understand,
What it is I want to say,
On what may be my final day.

'Tis pathetic that this lead,
Is now speaking in my stead,
I cannot visualize sensations,
Or verbalize emotions,
Yet the tears that remain unshed,
May have finally said,
What pencil and paper never could,
And lungs and tongue never should,
When the heart is dead and the body not,
How long 'till I too can rest and rot?

But Lo! What is this I percieve?
A light on the horizon I believe,
I hear the birds as they sing,
Of the wonders dawn may bring,
As I stood there in wonder,
My thoughts were torn asunder,
Like a pheonix from the ashes,
New thoughts came unbidden in flashes,
At last I feel complete,
At last I see no defeat,
'Tis a strange path I now tread,
Still much has been left unsaid,
Perhaps one day, some far away time,
I will share these lessons that are mine,
For now it is enough,
Death called not my bluff,
So I live another day,
And hope to never again lose me way.

Stormy Fairweather