Sickness Unto Death

(Isaiah 38:1-3) In those days Hezekiah became ill and was at the point of death. The prophet Isaiah son of Amoz went to him and said, "This is what the LORD says: Put your house in order, because you are going to die; you will not recover." Hezekiah turned his face to the wall and prayed to the LORD, "Remember, LORD, how I have walked before you faithfully and with wholehearted devotion and have done what is good in your eyes." And Hezekiah wept bitterly.

----------------Sickness Unto Death: The Thoughts of Hezekiah Ill

You cant bear to look out the window:
only stare at the wall
You cant bear to see birds in flight
en route to their destination
or figs falling to the ground as branches sway
the sun at its apex nourishing all of creation
with warmth, and joviality
and the encouragement and solace to keep at it
to persist in life despite travails and
rainy days passed and not yet come
or the sounds traveling of children laughing
on their mothers' jittering knees peppiness abounding
or water trickling over rocks as the stream rushes
towards the sea
the splashing and plunking of fish exiting and entering water's doors
cavalierly
because this is how hope speaks
and though she once was beautiful she has become unbecoming, stern
now forever turning her back, admonishing your gaze
forever scowling though you plea and plea and plea
to be received at her table
because these aforementioned phenomena embody promise
of which you now have none
the fig seeds will meet their aspirations to be trees
the fish will find larger bodies of water, more room to swim
the birds, a more fertile landscape to feed their young
yet for you the prospect of tomorrow dims with each passing day
as the sun silently diverts his path and shines
opposite your doorstep, opposite your throne
and because these are snapshots of what you once were, but
can never be again
a mosaic of memories that you beckon and try to scream to
for mercy but have become frustratingly mute
nothing can mollify this malignant malady
and the birds and the fish and figs and the streams
and the children and the mothers all
scurry past your window so as to go unnoticed
for you are all alone now;
a stranger to all and a familiar friend to death
and the death of all dreams, dreaming,
and wishing
well acquainted with sorrow, sadness and sullen shadows
slinking as you sink and sit shrinking a
sobbing King
of solitude
stricken