Gray Drapes

Gray Drapes

For Norman Evans, R.I.P.

Where went the colors from those old gray drapes
That flow in the night air above my bed?
I watch unholy dancing overhead
Their pattern used to be cream, like soft crepes

I hear the drapes, cloth messengers of death
That whisper to remove imprisoned minds
From broken bodies, not much unlike mine
No movement in leg or limb, right nor left

Here comes my gray wife bearing a gray bowl
I remember her hair was brown and red with indecision
An argument of color before I lost my vision
I see her now as if peering through a hole

A mockery made of our bright marriage
An invalid confined to this soiled mattress
She smiles as I'm fed - a capable actress
We both realize that death comes by carriage

Lying here, dying here, wraught in my head
She kisses then leaves...in darkness I hear
More whispering, enchanting in my ear
Apparently end or beginning is near
So I lay without fear, admiring the sheer
Magnificence of those drapes, over my bed