There are stiff smiles and concealed tears
Remorse at my detachment, guilt and regret
That’s why I’m singing the blues to myself.
Now my family are familiar no longer
As they usher me through corridors and halls
Pale labyrinths full of fading sleep
And so I’m singing the blues all the time.
My senses are attuned to my periphery
Here in this coffin of flesh and fibres
The mind ticks over like a grandfather clock
Replaying and reliving my life’s footage
From this day to that through a sepia film reel.
A portrait in progress left on indefinite pause,
With the paint running dry in the easel.
Doors open and close, eyes flicker and look away
Then everything fades out once again
As though life were just an interlude
And I’m singing the blues no more.
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