Untitled - July 26, 2001

Even as the breath 
exits the body,
there is a cloak
of numbness
that descends
and muffles
the silent howls
left
unuttered.

Like rough leather worn -
it hides away
everything
that might have been
seen.

There is a slow measure -
as the pulse runs silently -
each moment 
becoming 
eternity.

Slowly at first,
until there is
a steady stream
of movement.

Isn't it ironic,
that the only thing felt
was the numbness
and then the pain.

I have forgotten
what
joy
is.