Mercy

I can feel it coming,

The point where I notice all my expectations

Have proved false.

It is still a thing most in my head,

The knowing of my finiteness,

That eventually what I know ends in mystery

I am unable to solve.

Maybe it is a simple matter of age and decay,

The psychological buttresses shoring up my surety

Giving way to the gravity of unanswered questions?

I feel the tips of my fingers

Have begun to open.

It begins to drip away

Leaving what’s left

Slipping over me like shadow.

I am in other hands than my own.

I am at the mercy of what I do not know.