She lays still in her bed,
waiting for the angel of death
to come,
to steal her soul.
She's weak,
I stand there by her side in silence,
ignorant to what is happening.
How awful for
everyone to be surrounding her,
waiting to hear her last breath,
waiting for her departure.
the day has stopped,
so useless I feel,
I don't have the power to help.
The selfishness of us humans doesn't have limits,
How ironic yet so frightening,
today I am crying for her,
tomorrow tears will be lost for me.
Her face is so sweaty,
her tired look from all those sleepless nights,
her long hair, falling one by one,
I don't see that sparkle anymore
that urge to leave;
she gave up.
What am I worth,
what is my presence going to change,
prayers are coming from my strained voice,
that persona, Death is so mysterious,
visiting when you less expect it
especially when you started forgetting of it's existence.
Looking at her I now understand
that life has to be lived to it's fullest
day after day,
that we can't live forever although that's what we think,
and health is a major player to all this.
As everyone I lost someone dear, the poem wasn't for one person in particular but I wanted to express the way I felt when I found myself in this situations and how we all do most of the time ... I mean the advent Death is one of those times where we realize us humans are mortals and from there it comes a sense of frustration.