Isn't it fun to read between the lines?
Like for every sentence and every word
A writer conveys something with so much worth

Isn't it fun to read beyond the lines?
That even though the writer wrote it with boundary
But you're thinking leads you to a endless land from just a cranny

Isn't it fun to read behind the lines?
Like for every lovely and eloquent lines
You can see the dripping tears and a torned heart with no rhymes

Isn't it fun to read among the lines?
Tread among the words and unspoken letters
Where you'll meet and see yourself face to face with wings and feathers

Isn't it so much fun to read a writer's lines?
And isn't it so much fun to write a writer's line?
You'll never know where reading and writing will take you.
Isn't it so fun?
©

His eyes widened as he struggled for breath,
Almost as though he could see his approaching death.
His young face, puffy; his veins bulging out completely,
As he looked at the nurse seemingly begging for mercy.
But she didn't care, she only did as she was told,
As she removed the oxygen mask & the blanket that shielded from the cold.
And in that state he shivered and shook,
Labouring even harder with each breath he took.
His legs lay motionless, his arms hanging by the side,
Saliva dripping from his mouth down to his thighs.
His eyes searched mine, as though in [a] silent plea,
"Do something! Please help me!"
But alas! I was as helpless as he,
Powerless! Hampered by inability.
For the Fates had decided before hand,
To afflict him with a condition incurable by Man.
His eyes formed with tears clear as glass,
As though he realised the next breath might be his last.
Suddenly he let out a groan probably of desperation and pain,
And I beheld the life from his body drain.
His chest stopped heaving and suddenly everything was still,
His limbs had lost their vitality and will.
He died at a tender age with no family at his side,
With his final moments beheld by this stranger's eyes.

R.I.P my dear. You will not be forgotten.

#BlueRain
iv. 06/10/16