Deathbed Poetry: Charles darwin
The tears catch themselves in my throat,
and do not spill out of my eyes.
He's laying in the warmth of my bed,
and I know his hands will go cold,
I think back to the time I've wasted- no- cherished.
The grief of sickness flickers in my husbands eyes,
Still I do not cry.
His research stirs in my head,
And I laugh sadly,
Thinking: God will not wait for him,
And still my cheeks stay dry.
God, how peculiar, how he makes my mind wonder
Of all the thoughts his data might bestow.
his chest spikes in pain,
I see it in his eyes- then across his face,
And our family's faces twists
as if our hearts are the ones failing,
Maybe they are in some way.
The conclusion that maybe meaning isn't in the pages,
But in their memories,
Makes my chest heave,
But no sob comes.
I see him smirk,
And turn,
And whisper,
“I am not at all afraid to die.”
Then, with a shaky hand,
I lay my hand across his face,
and close his eyes.
Knowing he lives on in books,
and in me.
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