Comatose

- The Seasons Of Grief: Chapter IV - Poem VII -

So, here we have a heart cut so graven,

From a body weighed by hesitation

A boy in his mid-twenties caught in winter’s hold,

A soul too fragile to be consoled

The symptoms wove too tight a net,

No cure was found, no hope was left

Warm to the touch, now cold and withdrawn,

A once bright light, now barely compares to dawn 

Come in, come see,

What happened to the boy who longed to be free?

From the disease that drained his feeble smile,

Tell them, he was only a child,

If they ask what happened, don’t let your demeanor descend,

Tell them the truth, if they ask,

Is he comatose again?

We traced the steps, and he learned to dance,

Yet, fate hated the music’s smitten chance

Whispers passed through sterile halls,

A lost patient, a lover stalled

They’ll all go home, arms entwined,

Safe in love, unconfined

He’ll rot in the morgue until he speaks again,

“He’s back again, back from being slain”

Saw him drifting, lost in the white,

Another fall, another fight,

Do you hear?

The pulse grew ever so slight,

A last breath and then,

The coma begins

Try it again with feeling,

How the monitors were peaking,

How the breath was barely speaking,

How the dreaming left him reeling

His beloved ghost in me,

Drifting through eternity,

How can I be free?

Come in, come see,

The death rattle begins,

Quiet mourners settle in,

Tell them, he was far too mild,

If they ask what happened, don’t let your tears be defiled,

Tell them the truth when they ask,

He’s comatose again