The Final Journey ©
Garry Fraser Smith
A vacant, void once radiant mass,
enclosed in the coldness of a personal dungeon,
Increasing in its decaying splendour.
Waiting in silence as darkness fills the room,
A vase of flowers the only relief from the starkness.
As the skies darken outside,
How brightness had once fallen from the air.
And so begins the conveyance on the final journey,
Surging into unenvied peace.