The air was cold
A light flickered in the distance
This is the night, he thought.
This is the night.
Something lingered in the room.
He could see figures,
but they were not ghosts.
He could hear them whispering
They whispered in his native tongue,
a language that only he could understand.
He could feel a hand
Brushing against his cheeks
It was big and strong.
Stong-just like he once was.
Bright and shining,
he was the master of the world.
He could not see a face
But he knew why.
Nobody had touched him so gently before.
Don't cry, the hand seemed to say.
Hush, Hush, Peter.
He closed his eyes
And let the hand lay him down to sleep.
And before his heart stopped beating, he smiled.
He smiled so sweetly.
For he felt like a child again.