Why We Believe II

I see it in the eyes of the elderly,
taking baby steps until wheelchair bound.
I hear it in the timbre of phlegmy voices
coming from December’s darkness.

The faithless: impatient with any inconvenience
interrupting their idea of immortality.
Their independence abandoning them to a frailty.
Bodies dying as they cling to a dire tomorrow
that won’t be including them.

Morose and complaining in their unique pain,
with a voice betraying a gnawing fear inside.
Eyes wide with a terror denied.

The blessed: those who still believe in something.
Nodding-off in a serenity some see as senility,
while preparing for another adventure.

Alone but accepting and expectant,
as they pack a bag of memories.
Fearless eyes, tear-washed and still twinkling,
stoic and smiling.

I know their secret;
It was always ours to share.
We will believe again.