Crisis (poem)

He breathed in and said-

“It is like flowers before the dawn,

like a long night,

lifting into the eaves of the sky,

deep and comforting.”

 

I wet his brow.

 

He perspired death

Fingers gripping at blankets

Ephemeral thoughts

He desired to convey

 

I leaned close

Chasing a whisper of air before me

Then exhaled a cradle song, oh so softly

 

Until his smile laxed

And his

Eyes

Dimmed.

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