He can’t remember how it started,
this stagnation that seeped into his bones
like a rotten film, a canker that slowed his heart
to a mere sluggish thud.
He looks at what he has built of his life,
and Shock stirs Torpor.
Where did his beautiful life go?
It was a slow decay,
a day-by-day downward spiral,
a slinking drip-drip of foul into fresh,
until his spirit sank beneath a pool of neglect.
What hour did he abandon himself?
He cannot point to it on a calendar –
it grew in on him while his senses slept.
His will be a life alive,
a pool party,
a place to find joy and refreshment
He doesn’t know where to begin,
what life-weed to scrape away first,
and his terrified eyes glaze for a moment.
Then he turns,
grabs a spade,
and the digging begins…