Till Death Do You Part

There is a small place in this world,

where a valley lays.

It is has a village with a few houses,

and a few trees at the top.

I live there,

and I wait.

Everyone waits.

They wait for a better year, a better day, or a piece of bread to keep from going hungry.

None of these ever occur.

They call it a healing process, and to be patient.

But each day I look at the horizon waiting for that better year, and it never seems to appear.

I catch fish, and walk by the lake, and climb a tree, but that horizon never has anything coming over it.

I hope and hope and hope.

Now I am hopeless.

I am also speechless.

I can no longer speak my mind or uncover my thoughts, for I am still waiting for that better year.

I have not parted yet, but I am still waiting.

I am waiting in that valley, with a few houses and a few trees, looking for the better days.

Death has not grasped me, not until that better year.

But I have been sitting and looking forever,

and my skin has wrinkled, as well as my life.

I am persistent on those better days, but I don't know when it will come.

Maybe today, tomorrow or in 1000 years.

Till death do I part, I will look for that missing better day.