A Mercy
by David A. Gray
Age, the patient sadist
Motionless in the seconds, sneaking close in the years,
Feints with a dusting of silver hair,
Wraps gauze over eyes and wads cotton in ears
Siphoning off confidence, and while we fret
Replacing vigor with doubt
Pouring ground glass into knees
Transforming the smug atheist into the eagerly devout
Watching his handiwork work with a rheumy leer,
Taking back our inches, pounds,
Stealing companions and memories
Until the simplest task confounds
Only to be thwarted at the end,
By merciful Death,
Who, scornful of Age’s torture,
Carries us away to safety with our last feeble breath
Motionless in the seconds, sneaking close in the years,
Feints with a dusting of silver hair,
Wraps gauze over eyes and wads cotton in ears
Siphoning off confidence, and while we fret
Replacing vigor with doubt
Pouring ground glass into knees
Transforming the smug atheist into the eagerly devout
Watching his handiwork work with a rheumy leer,
Taking back our inches, pounds,
Stealing companions and memories
Until the simplest task confounds
Only to be thwarted at the end,
By merciful Death,
Who, scornful of Age’s torture,
Carries us away to safety with our last feeble breath
David A. Gray is a writer and designer, exiled from his native Scotland to Brooklyn, NYC. His shorts have been accepted by Every Day Fiction, Daily Science Fiction, The Raven Review, and others, and his debut novel, Moonflowers, was released in 2019. He is not morbid, but, as the Scots say, "dour."