Frightened and tired
his eyes stare into the distance
as he once again faces reality
in the ghastly fate that dealt its lot.
Beads of sweat fall down like stars;
like the storm pounding outside his window.
This is the dawn he rises to every morning.
I take hold of his frail hand beckoning tenderness
as one would a knife to the chest.
Yet his weak smile defies the eminent death
threatening to consume him.
He turns his gaze upon my eyes…
It won’t be long now…
The shadows lurk in his mind,
but he glimpses a tear slipping from my cheeks
and says, “No regrets. No hate. No fear.
It’s time to wake up, slumbering one.
The day is here.”
I manage a sorrowful smile
and reply, “Your heart has already won,
my brave one.” As he lies back once more,
the soft beeps counting down his final few breaths slow.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” he dreamily asks.
Leaning closer, I inquire, “Who?”
“The angels are singing.” he sighs.
As the green line finally stretches to a flat horizon,
I whisper brokenly to the rain, “Shhhh.”…
“ He is sleeping.”
*(A tribute to children that have lost the fight against cancer.)