What We Call Compassion

Sitting in the dimly lit,
Quiet room,
Along side the helpless.

The silent woman,
Lying down in a coma,
Motionless.

The freak moments,
Of sudden convulsion,
While ceasing in fury.

The unbearable pain,
The tortured soul,
The dying body.

On rare,
Good occasion,
Back to a calm rest.

The weary watchful,
Fear for the worst,
And hope for the best.

Wanting to help,
Wanting to alleviate,
The pain.

To change lives,
To spare her,
And take her destruction.

Praying faith,
Won’t let you down,
And peace restored.

But it is almost done,
The work of evil,
And the cycle of life.

She is almost gone,
Body ended,
Spirit beginning.

And at the quick second,
She fails to breathe again,
And she passes on.