It is rough watching children die, and so often I consider what their last moments are like for them. Today I watched a child, once again near my sons age, die from a failing heart, and one that failed quite surprisingly. Tough indeed. The poem below captured some of my thoughts for the life of this child.
Thanks to you, I make my way,
battling black soul’s destiny.
Treading water on my own,
Figuring out life’s recipe.
Pounding, pulsating heart.
Heavy beat of the drum grows weary.
I.V. fluids supply airy supplication
Concluding my resignation.
Lungs never full. Deep breaths half way.
Mystery solved, what crime must I absolve?
Why I must pay.
Childhood stripped, facing harsh reality.
Lost and alone, now staring at finality.
Skeleton hand, cloaked in black
reaches out before rotting meats stench.
Thanks to you, I make my way.
Poisoned by your incandescence.
Own glow flickers as oxygen fades.
Clarity of intentions revealed in the haze.
Mute to prevarication.
Deaf to the accusations.
Blind to the degradation.
Dumb to humiliation.
Enchanted fingers reveal old tales
Before illness consumes; vital signs fail.
Slumber creeps with stealthy Death.
A final Exhale of burdened breath.
by Katy Napierski