Outside the too-small window, clouds hang low
And inside the sprawling hospital, death
Hangs over people’s heads, near a shadow
Cast by thoughts of their fate and one last breath.
The sounds and smells of sickness infiltrate
the air, and if you’re here long enough, the mind.
Medicine shoved down throats to postpone the date
When wills are finally coughed up and signed,
When lungs fill with stale air for the last time;
When the lonely husband or loyal son
Returns to a now hollow home to mime
In their minds what could have been, what is done;
When their misty eyes devour old photos
And they spite God, who they no longer know.
