The Clock…

Sometimes my bones cry out in ache
already they miss the warmth of your touch.
Feelings of isolation watching as the
silent men and women move across the room.
All  to remind me,  just what loneliness is –
that searing pain of emptiness
with nothing in-between.
Look at me I want to scream
yet know that whilst you sleep
my selfishness should not disturb your calm.

Piece by piece we  have come to letting go.
What we hold today shivers
fragile in this clinical breeze –
Reminders of how transient, these hours can be.
Though not absent from me yet, your
pale-like features, echo whitewashed doom.
I search non expectant for someone to tell me please
should I be the one,  who lets go first.
For what rules dare come into play; when a loved one
remains in body – yet far from home in mind.
Would it be so incredibly selfish of me to ask
that you  sail that final voyage.
For I do not think I can sit to watch
another day go slowly by.
My whole life bound up in the ticking of
this hospital clock.

I dare not close my eyes
not turn to face away.
Your ending – my grief
Our story is ever far from being complete.
Therefore in a whispered promise; with all that I am
I shall tell you more
when next we come to meet…


Poppy May 2013


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