A cold stone room

with nothing moving

is where I

spend

the only thing that we all have.

And with her a day can go by like a minute

So my days seem

numbered

Though I can’t hear them

right now, somewhere,

people are enjoying

the simple things

We, brave men, are not simple.

There are things within us that

ache

and make us wonder

why we bother.

There’s something else

in here

that’s moving

and it makes me want to cry.