100. Death mask

This is my death mask.
I can no longer see who I am.

She sits beside the water,
Looking down at her reflection.
Fingertips break the stillness of the water.
Her face travels to the edge,
Close to her feet. 

Ripples aren’t always silent.

The flowers fall slowly 
Yet the tree remains standing in the distance.
One moves,
The other does not.
The child goes far,
Beyond the travelling footsteps of the father.

Ripples aren’t always silent. 

The water is still once more.
She turns away from the dark pond,
And looks to the sky.
Merciless sunlight bathes her face.
She struggles to stand.
Pausing,
She breathes deeply,
Resting her hands on the wet soil for comfort.

This is my death mask.
I wish I knew who I’ve been. 

©Brindology 2017

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