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Poem depicting death and its impact on those affected. |
The night is silent, a ringing in my ears Remnants of a pulse echoing throughout walls, paper-thin My hands are shaking, yours are ice-cold There is blood beneath your fingernails, pooled; trapped where life once rung free The eyes are shut, the face is pallid A silent void where once they stared, For life has abandoned this shell And now the only sound that lingers Is the slow, dull tick and clatter Of the old clock above, marking seconds gone by The skin is frail, the feet are swollen Blotched and rancid; hues of purple and green The tongue has ballooned, a grizzly reminder That where life once stood, now does its mirror image The hair is matted and tangled, clinging To cheeks that droop, no longer pliable But the eyes still hold traces Of a familiar expression, As though they're frozen in that moment In time of agony and pain But the lips are still parted, A half-smile that curls As though still trying To hold onto the hope of hallucination That soon they'll awaken And it'll be just a memory. But the heart knows the truth And the blood pools on the floor The room that once was a sanctuary now just a distant echo And the clock on the wall continues to tick on But the heart was clogged, arteries giving way Organs wheezing, lungs pooled like soup The crash was inevitable, though a memory painted tender lips: A grandson, a hope, gone - alone The body has gone cold, and the room is quiet Only the clock ticking, a hollow chorus That echoes throughout this space The final moments of life - marked The end of a chapter. The final seconds pass, There is a brief silence - Before a final gasp of breath And the eyes open and blink, once, As though waking from a dream, As though waking to a memory And time continues, Unaware. |