Anatomy of the Thoughts of a Dying Man

An old man stares out of his hospital window at the approaching storm,
As the howling winds beat on the walls of the old southern building.
The sound doesn't scare him; it does stir up bitter memories of serving in the second world war,
Thoughts so powerful he would lose control, or so it would be without the morphine.
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Lightning lights up the sky the same as those bombs and mortars did,
So long ago with the skies and ground parted, a perpetual Hell on Earth.
A cold sweat breaks, but the tension eases when flower petals float past his window,
And he recalls his wife, a picture of her by his side, one picture worth a thousand words.
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The numb warmth hits him as another drop drips from the automatic feed.
He contemplates Plato's words, "Only those that know death truly know the end of war."
Well Death is sitting in the corner showing the man his life, the good and bad,
All the way up to now as he reaches forward to take the man to Heaven's door.
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