I did not order the violins
singing down these sterile hallways,
in the florescent glow
of ward eight.
I did not order the sadness
streaming in glistening tears
down the faces
of your seven sisters.
I did not order the agitated delirium
that has plagued your mind
switching your days to nights;
a circadian beast.
I did not order the carcinoma
diagnosed on hospital day six,
which has answered the wrenching question,
of your rapid decline towards death.
Yet, I did order the comfort
of your family at your bedside,
holding vigil
in your honor.
I did order the tincture's
to relieve pain and the disquieting confusion,
in a final salvo
against an unnatural death.
