Every New Death

I have seen it
before,
the slow decay,
the rot,
so plainly visible,
as neglect,
slowly stripped
the color,
stripped
the strength
from the carefully constructed
love,
and left it raw
to the weather,
slowly strangled,
bereft
of the strength
to color itself
alive,
simply waiting for death
while everyone
watches,
beautifully blind,
somehow sure
the ending
will not be
what every new death
promises,
always surprised
when
the end arrives
with a crash,
forgetting,
always forgetting
they have watched it
day,
by day,
by day.

About This Poem

The picture is of the entry way to a barn not far from my home. This winter, that entryway collapsed. Everyone seemed surprised. I see the same thing happening in lives. Even sometimes, my own.

Tom