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he chose to return home   to the familiar sights, sounds, smells   to leave the silent antiseptic Medicare paid vacation suite behind, for some other sinking soul   he chose to deny the “in home palliative care”   for he said it would be like a door to door peddler you allowed in , one who would never leave hocking her wares as if he got to keep them   when she would give the same calming commodities   to a stranger, the very day he was gone   they all said, he would be in pitiful pain, peeling his skin off pain without the magic potions of modernity, the ones that brought on Morpheus' sleep, and lapped up miles he had left he knew though,  he had no miles left   only a few steps, to the bathroom, perhaps, if his old soldier’s legs held out, perhaps he could make it to the yard again one time, to see the ivy he planted in lesser numbered years, the cool soft vines he watered and ignored, until the sun turned them a yawning yellow, then a brusque brown, perchance he could make it to their home one more time, before the last speck of green vanished in the dying light
0
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
when the ivy dies
he chose to return home   to the familiar sights, sounds, smells   to leave the silent antiseptic Medicare paid vacation suite behind, for some other sinking soul   he chose to deny the “in home palliative care”   for he said it would be like a door to door peddler you allowed in , one who would never leave hocking her wares as if he got to keep them   when she would give the same calming commodities   to a stranger, the very day he was gone   they all said, he would be in pitiful pain, peeling his skin off pain without the magic potions of modernity, the ones that brought on Morpheus' sleep, and lapped up miles he had left he knew though,  he had no miles left   only a few steps, to the bathroom, perhaps, if his old soldier’s legs held out, perhaps he could make it to the yard again one time, to see the ivy he planted in lesser numbered years, the cool soft vines he watered and ignored, until the sun turned them a yawning yellow, then a brusque brown, perchance he could make it to their home one more time, before the last speck of green vanished in the dying light
(everything I write lately feels like a retread, but I feel the need to put something on the page--this was inspired by the drought plagued ivy that was growing along my fence)
spysgrandson
Written by
American
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
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