rattles

I think there's a different kind of "death rattles" than the ones you hear about...it's the rattling around by yourself...in the cold fringes of the winter.   No energy to go out; nothing but silence staying home.

It's the way death rattles in this world and knocks her unearthly breaths at your doors and windows waiting for you to succumb.  It's the way the silence sears in to your heart and makes you question anything and perhaps everything you do.

It's the emptiness of no children, no life...even though life may scurry around your feet...like rats scratching, stretching, scraping to find the least bit of nourishment...brilliant creatures, misunderstood...murdered by those who don't understand.

Nothing; no nothing is as lonely as being a widow.  Except for, of course, being a human being who pushes love out of their own life.

Maybe I'm both.