The beyond will continue to be out there.
In this island of his afternoon
He waits in anticipation
For the rattle of the trolley
The jangle of knife, fork and spoon.
His room sparse though it may be
Is his home forever and a day
Yes he knows day from night.
Weeks tumble into months
He has no fear of death, it may come soon?
Not something he contemplates to long on
When it is discussed he has little to offer
If pressed on the subject one day he just might?
Until then, in this island of his afternoon
He praises the setting sun and rising moon
He’ll glory at the star lit sky
Count his beads, heave a sigh
They’ll come to his assistance
Settle him in for the night
Nods his appreciation
Switches out his light.
© Chris Black.
Poetry from The Man Shed
16th April 2020
~The Poet’s Poet~
Chris's Blog 
Very poignantly evoked. I’m glad he can see the sky and his future, hence no doubt his inner peace.
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