Mourning

The sun rises each morning
and yet I am shrinking
as the world grows around me
yet everything is beautiful
and everything dies
and somehow, I've grown lonely

the moon reveals itself, a lonely
being, patiently waiting for the morning
sun to free it. Soon, night dies
and I begin my shrinking
and she picked a rose, a beautiful
red, rose and gave it to me

the bread is sprinkled with sesame
and I notice a lonely,
stray seed on the plate. The beautiful,
intoxicating scent of toast and eggs in the morning
is heaven as the food begins shrinking
and my appetite dies.

Sitting at the table, something big dies
and something small churns within me
and nothing hides my shrinking
The bird outside the window sings the same lonely
tune, isolated on its crooked branch each morning
but everyday it's beautiful

and everything beautiful
dies
and every morning
mocks me
as I begin my lonely
shrinking

everyone is fading and shrinking
and the beautiful
red rose sits in its lonely
vase, and sits and rots and dies
and stares longingly at me
and my mourning

Every shrinking morning
the beautiful dies
but lonely me waits.