Hands move without mind

The time slips by in silence that is mine

I just try to find a sign

That says this way or that.

 

Motion drifts without body

Unrecognisable though still resembling

The fiery spark that’s dwindled

And waiting to be rekindled now or later.

 

Heart beats without soul

Too cold to move from scolding mould

That’s festered in the folds of me

Grasping for straws I can’t quite see.

 

Come here, my boy.

Where are you?