People die.
Some young.

I recall my stolen
Moment. Soul's eyes

Opening; floating, cradled
In warmth -such

Contrast to the sterile
Chill of the table against

My back-
Beeps and pings fading

Like some sun setting
Somewhere behind.

That's right...
How could I forget...?

Seeing Day.
Sleep ending.

People die.
Some young,

But a few close their eyes
And return. I love this

Beautiful, terrifying
Dream.