Jun 2015
Why won’t you just die?
It’s past time you know
To give up the ghost and move on
The strength of your spirit
The fight for each breath
Inspiring and wrenching as one
Why won’t you give up
Your struggle to live?
It’s hard to both love you and see
The length you will go to
To take one more breath
Prolonging your own misery
Why don’t you just die?
You’ve nothing to fear
An end to your pain is at hand
Your time here has ended
A door has been closed
But another awaits your command.
20Dec2000
Happy Father's Day to my dad, Horace Edwin Donaldson, known to one and all as Eddie, who was born 26 July 1917, and died 21 Dec 2000.
I love you and miss you.
It’s past time you know
To give up the ghost and move on
The strength of your spirit
The fight for each breath
Inspiring and wrenching as one
Why won’t you give up
Your struggle to live?
It’s hard to both love you and see
The length you will go to
To take one more breath
Prolonging your own misery
Why don’t you just die?
You’ve nothing to fear
An end to your pain is at hand
Your time here has ended
A door has been closed
But another awaits your command.
20Dec2000
Happy Father's Day to my dad, Horace Edwin Donaldson, known to one and all as Eddie, who was born 26 July 1917, and died 21 Dec 2000.
I love you and miss you.
I lost my dad to pneumonia and Alzheimer's Disease on 21 Dec 2000. He had had pneumonia twice before, and this was his third round - and his third round under Hospice care.
I wrote this poem before going to bed, on the day I signed all the papers for Hospice yet again, and finished it at 11:45 PM. His nursing home called me at 5:45 AM to tell me of my dad's passing - exactly six hours after I finished the poem. Somehow, on some level, I know he got it.
This poem was first published, in print and online, in Stash Magazine, St. Petersburg, Florida, in January 2001.
I wrote this poem before going to bed, on the day I signed all the papers for Hospice yet again, and finished it at 11:45 PM. His nursing home called me at 5:45 AM to tell me of my dad's passing - exactly six hours after I finished the poem. Somehow, on some level, I know he got it.
This poem was first published, in print and online, in Stash Magazine, St. Petersburg, Florida, in January 2001.
