Extracation Supplication

I died, again…somewhere along the line…but nobody told me
Observable yet impalpable…here yet…there
The seasons continued their seemingly undying sojourn
My children, children no longer, tested maturating wings
And flew…creating new nests, breathing their own air
Memories fell about me as do leafs their tenuous grip on life
To scatter as old photographs upon carpets littered with remembrance
My wife sub-consciously perceived the situation
And with single minded purpose, aided by strong hands, gentle heart
Played tug-of-war with spectral entities of the past
Grasping, pulling, forever urging me “come…’t is time…come”
Pain increasingly supplants pleasure, Sorrow dances in lieu of smile
As yesterday’s paths circumnavigate my tormented brain
Still…I walk…Gideon’s trumpet and the lamentations of those such as I
Ringing…ringing, wailing solicitations to a decaying anachronism
The future looms as melanoid abyss, an all encompassing chasm
A pit…long, long awaiting my overdue arrival…and I am frightened
The hourglass is bottom heavy; dust adorns its pitiless structure
I frantically scan the pages of forgotten books, images lost to time
Brooklyn street scene…summer 1949…all eyes suddenly…on me!
No time for frenzied phone calls, no time for tear laden goodbye’s
A vortex of foretime…bygone implacable hands…escort me…home
To my darlings…flowers grow not from solid rock…nor men from fallow fields
I entreat thee…do not weep…hellish fires and the din of the dying
No longer anguish; I am at last happy…I am at last home
Please, if you please to visit me…I now live...on page 127
I love you