"ostracism" poems - Hello Poetry

I breathe in this silence that is not Silenced, Air alive with heartbeats and Clocks ticking too slow, Eyes meeting over Sticky plastic tables, Snapping away like an awkward blind date, Fingertips drumming impatiently. Wait. Calm. Be patient. Tick...tock........tick...............tock I can't, I won't, my son laying One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away, But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren, Interfering. My red shirt crumples beneath Nervous fingers, The same shade as the blood given To my son, not knowing it contained Death. Why can't I fight with my son, My son, Shining brightly and boldly as the sun, Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about. Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis, But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death. AIDS. Oh God. Breathe. Can't breathe. Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity Alone. White sheets and sterile beds rob My son of all his sunshine, Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket, Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him, Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock. I see red. Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles, How do I know that this is safe, No one knows if this is safe, This is our only hope. Tick..tock.....tick........tock. White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us, We run. My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue. Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions, All of my tears, All of my grief, All his last breaths. My son. No longer my sunshine, Just a pale winter afternoon, No sun beneath cold sheets of snow. My son. Time moves too slow when everyone wears black, Like molasses dripping from a jar into Metallic air and earthy graves. Like ash clouding out the sun. My son. No more my sun.

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Jul 13, 2014

Jul 13, 2014 at 1:16 PM UTC

CheshireCat92

Yellow Boat

I breathe in this silence that is not Silenced, Air alive with heartbeats and Clocks ticking too slow, Eyes meeting over Sticky plastic tables, Snapping away like an awkward blind date, Fingertips drumming impatiently. Wait. Calm. Be patient. Tick...tock........tick...............tock I can't, I won't, my son laying One floor, 3 hallways, 12 rooms away, But we are relegated to the hospital cafeteria as if my husband and I are naughty schoolchildren, Interfering. My red shirt crumples beneath Nervous fingers, The same shade as the blood given To my son, not knowing it contained Death. Why can't I fight with my son, My son, Shining brightly and boldly as the sun, Infected with a blood-borne killer we were never warned about. Hemophilia is a tough diagnosis, But my careful worrying wasn't enough to save him from a Diagnosis of ostracism and certain death. AIDS. Oh God. Breathe. Can't breathe. Time moves too fast, my son racing towards eternity Alone. White sheets and sterile beds rob My son of all his sunshine, Lips blue and pale like my husband's jacket, Nothing but incessant beeping and bustling nurses who can't fix him, Clock going tick, tock, tick, tock. I see red. Red dripping into and out of his arms through silver needles, How do I know that this is safe, No one knows if this is safe, This is our only hope. Tick..tock.....tick........tock. White coat of the doctor moving too quickly towards us, We run. My heart thumping red and my stomach yellow bile and my eyes leaking blue. Hospital room not room enough for all my emotions, All of my tears, All of my grief, All his last breaths. My son. No longer my sunshine, Just a pale winter afternoon, No sun beneath cold sheets of snow. My son. Time moves too slow when everyone wears black, Like molasses dripping from a jar into Metallic air and earthy graves. Like ash clouding out the sun. My son. No more my sun.