Here again,
in these halls,
the putrescence
is horrific this morning,
yet I push on
past the fungating wounds,
and the emesis basins.
I see you
from the moment I turn the corner,
and I know,
in a single glance,
that death is at hand.
Your palms cold and pale,
a sign of the catastrophic hemorrhage,
that is suffocating
your mind;
a heart screaming
to keep up with
the brains demands.
You have passed beyond
pain,
and for a moment I take solace,
and sit;
filling the void
to prevent another soul
in this hell of a place
from dying alone.
Your hands limp,
and peaceful in mine;
my hands
full of anger and sadness
as I had held these hands
just days before,
when life was vibrant
and hopeful.
Now sitting
with my hand in yours
watching the slow
decline
in breaths
and heart beats;
I see you escape
from this mortal prison.
I pray now
that you sit
in peace,
in love,
and with hope
for a better day.
