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Description
Laboured breathing, heart monitors,
these are the sounds that we hear.
Sirens distant but apparent,
ghosts wailing in the tireless night.
In one room soft laughter,
separated by a cotton sheet, despair.
All stillness exaggerated.
All movement a blur.
A child goes limp and loses grip,
a mother's hand goes empty and cold
-so sick a cold.
Our minds whir in endless directions,
synapse shooting blindly at fleeting targets.
The questions pile up and answers are fed back.
Why remains a mystery.
Even in the dim white wash halls battles are fought.
Shoulders damp in denial or relief.
This is where we cling for life and let men play God.
Meanwhile, the universe expands at a constant rate.