You are more beautiful
Than the dying lungs which gave you life,
That now are taking the very thing they gave you.

You are so much more than this disease
That with each aching breath is
Betraying the body you thought you knew so well.

We won't be angry with you
When you take your final sleep,
We will breathe a sigh, as you will be free from suffering.

You are more beautiful than that.

people glanced with arched eyebrows
and squinted stares,
they whispered to their friends
or make eye contact with another passer-by
had she seen herself before she left?
her fringe had been cut rather crooked,
and they thought she looked the fool.

If they really looked at her though,
they would see the dead despair in her eyes,
slumped shoulder
shielding a secret life.
They would see her weather beaten hands
that are tired.
she works seven days a week,
but doesn't see a penny of it,
and when she comes home
she has to fulfill her 'duties',
like a good wife.

her fringe is crooked
because she cut it herself,
by candlelight,
her hands shaking
fearing that he may see
and punish her
from straying from her 'duty'

The bells are ringing loudly,
toiling for their muse.
There won't be another
to fill his shoes.

The bells are ringing louder,
as he makes his final stroll,
upon the shoulders
of his dearests sons.

The bells are ringing,
but no one here can hear,
there is an echo of ending life,
it's time to share our memories
while they are still ripe.

The bells are ringing loudly,
ticking like a fuse.