May her broken body peacefully return to earth
And her broken heart heal in the next place

What’s a measure of a valuable life?
dignity;
Or knowing when to ask for help?
Is it clutched in talons of the oppressor?
Is it living fast and dying young all for a story to tell?
How many should watch over your rotting corpse?
Because in the end all our blood pools black;
The ink of our heart’s quill desperate to get out

I could think of no other purpose,
Love.
They sang throughout the night
while I was found, in the garden.
It would be simpler, he said, if they would just remember me, but
there were too many of them.

‘With a ‘well, well, well,
what have we here?’ I can enter any room
with confidence, hand on hip
[the Nurse called from within]

It reminded me of the idiots and ghouls
between myself and myself,
while I scratched like a cat.

What a piece of junk!
But I think that it will be enough.
The whole world was changing in those days while the haze reminds me of leaves,
and of you.

You are standing in a garden.

It’s strangely busy around the deathbeds,
as well it’s my last nightshift of the year.
I try to make no noise, can you hear me?
Push my hand, if you can, move a limb.
Your breath is so slow, please keep going,
monitors flash in time with the ventilator.
I’ll control the pupils, I know it’s blinding.
No one goes with their sparkling old eyes,
we are usually fading before we are dying.

The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive  X-rays know
Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery

Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?

I used to think I'd be saving lives.
But the truth hits me hard and I realize,

Some sickness is impossible to cure,
And promises of wholeness just a lure.

I make every effort often in vain
To send you back home better than you came.

But to prolong life often means to suffer.
So I have another gift that I can offer.

I can be your escort to death;
Be a witness to your last breath.

I will guide you on your final journey.
Give you comfort and numb your hurting.

Don't be afraid, you won't be alone,
For I am watching over you as one of my own.

I stop my tears til I can release them later.
I'll walk you to the doorway. I am the gatekeeper.

Who knows why you finally did it?
The pain of living felt worse than death.
So decisive and certain you were.
A gun's swift act took your last breath.

I hope you have peace in the life beyond.
So young yet your pain had grown too great.
Did you not know there's still so much hope?
Could no one soothe the wounds in your heart?

Now I work to keep your body alive.
Your soul has long left its source of pain.
I watch your parents sit and weep,
Crying to have their child back again.

Would you have done it if you knew what came after?
For your family, the picture will always stay fresh.
Your face unrecognizable to those who knew you.
Your skull a mutilated mass of flesh.

Yet still there is hope at the end of this nightmare.
Others may find life through your demise.
Each ***** a lifeline for a soul in the balance.
But that does not comfort your parent's cries.

Do I sob in grief or rejoice in new life?
As I continue to keep a body working.
I feel the weight of the duty I carry.
The guardian of both the end and beginning.

I wish you and your family all comfort and peace.
I go home and leave the work behind.
But I could never forget what I saw in these days.
The sights and smells have their place in my mind.