it came and bled the roses dry

thursday 14th february 2002 @ 00:16

i have seen blood, pouring, pooling. fresh and truly scarlet. draining into starchy sheets, releasing it's energy into the outside. watching death as it seeps in through every orifice, pushing life out. too quick, too slow. a clammy pallor where once was young flesh.

you seem ready now to let go and as i cool your brow you mumble to me your last thanks. and pray for peace.

does your faith calm you in your last hours, your last minutes? does faith offer me a reason for your pain, your ending?

i am worn thin of emotion as i watch you fade. i say the soothing words. i lower my voice on the telephone and comfort your loved ones. i give the right drugs and lift your aching heels. wet your tongue with your last taste of ice cool water and squeeze your hand with desperate reassurance. to comfort you and others.

have i any right to ask for others to comfort me? what i do is strange and unworldly. distant but far too close for comfort. and when i feel death come into the room, wilting the roses and slowing her breath, is it so bad to feel the tears not just for her, but for myself...