14+18-3-10

A young woman, she works
on a wooden desk with a pen
spitting ink on parchment after parchment,
then her eyes show it first, widening -
she clutches her chest -
she falls to the floor, with her eyes
chasing the base of her skull.

A whisper in her ear – are you satisfied?

A mother, she holds
children exuding such life
spitting out orders to child after child,
then her eyes show it first, widening -
she clutches her chest -
she falls to the floor, with her eyes
chasing the base of her skull.

A whisper in her ear – are you yet satisfied?

Elderly now, yet still
the young run around
contrasting the differing mortalities,
then her eyes show it first, widening -
she clutches her chest -
she falls to the floor, with her eyes
chasing the base of her skull.

A whisper in her ear – now what matters?

A flash – young, old, older.
Then with a shudder, her eyes do fly open,
She contemplates and rubs her chest -
takes her pulse and worries as it quickens
and it quickens as she worries.

Such a vivid yet and plausible dream,
How am I not to believe?
I hold in my scream of terror
and utter despair.