The Fly

I pity the fly,

while lying frozen in pain on my bed.

It's final death throws hitting against

a glassy illusion of freedom and life.

With each thwack against the window,

I shudder.

I leave the blinds closed.

An act of mercy to let it die in privacy,

but truly to shield myself from seeing

the dried and lifeless body.  I fear to see it.

Yet I listen, obligated to witness

the fly's enduring efforts to live.