The final bow has begun.

A rattle and hiss grows from your lips,

Your eyes begin to gently close.

And from our eyes so slips our sorrow,

wetting our pink skin below.

How came this moment,

Upon your form so still upon the sheets.

With gentle grace your hands unwind,

Easing through the pain.

A mind once roiling with discomfort,

Now calms with a realization.

Relief has come at last.

And as our hearts beat with the loss,

We hear your final breath.

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The poems this month have a very personal touch as each one was crafted silently by the bedside of a dying patient. This poem is part of a larger collection highlighting my personal experience working in the healthcare field. if you’d like to read more follow the link here. 

Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.