Wither

Release my heart and set me free
For the flowers have all wilted
The rain no longer falls
The sun no longer shines upon me
And my patience is wearing thin
Hopelessness gives in to my advances
As I calmly wait for Death
But He does not come for me
And yet I lie still
Counting the rotting limbs
Of my quivering form
Dried and lifeless
As ashes burnt and
Spread apart by the wind
No purpose but to wander
Aimlessly on gusts of life
But never my own

- Stephen W. Brodie