A life's end

The old man , his chair , his bed one room.
His back arched marking a life of labour.
Windows half covered by old shabby curtains.
Lonely at life's end , only a few breaths away.
The bed was simple , creaking with each movement.
Hands marked by age, full of calluses.
Next to the bed on the floor a half empty bedpan.
His hands shook, holding a folded crinkled photo.
The only chair worn, dirty and empty casted shadows.
A teardrop smudged the grayish image.
The teapot on the table , discolored, a remnant of lost times.
Hands shook , eyes looked around, shivering.
Dishes in the sink portrayed the rooms state.
Weak pale moonlight made it look even more desolate.
The floor was dirty , hands hadn't labored for a while
The oppressive silence echoed,like a warning of doom

And the winds whistled his waning life
.....whistled his waning life