Waxen doll

Like a waxen doll,

Sprinkled in the dust,

Left in death’s wake,

You slept,

The pallor of your face,

With its cold stillness,

And the unmoving eyelids,

The absence of laboured breath,

Like an old clock,

That has long stopped its ticking,

I waited with bated breath,

Poised just above,

You seemed as if merely sleeping,

The realization of death,

Seemed so far away,

I, unbelieving,

Felt nothing until they took you away,

And then the pain howled,

Its way through to the surface,

Breaking the layer of grief on my face,

Composure shattered,

Like thinning ice,

Reality swept it away,

The last time we said goodbye.

~Rei Shiori