Am I Alive

At times I do recall the past,
Fragments of it seem to last,
A vision through an open door,
Places where I’ve been before.

I know a place, not far from here,
What is it called, I’m not quite clear?
Then faces that I sometimes see,
Not entirely known to me.

I picture, now and then, a scene,
Abroad, perhaps, where once I’ve been,
A second home, that might be it,
But then again that doesn’t fit.

I try my best, I strain to see,
Photographs held up for me,
A town I know, but cannot name,
Every building looks the same.

Were they spring or summer days?
Not certain, though for long I gaze,
I wince with dread once autumn blows,
Winter soon will blue my toes!

I hide from them these fears of mine,
As by my side they form a line,
Some talk of me, some lean and stare,
How strange my room they wish to share.

Then a stranger combs my hair,
Suddenly they seem to care,
Damn it, why am I in bed?
Am I alive or am I dead?

I notice faces turning sad,
Some mumble how, for me, they’re glad,
A voice from somewhere mentions death,
Then something, softly, stills my breath.