Last Rites
Tangled tubes connected to a body
laying still, breathing shallow, not awake
Beneath closed eyelids, rapid re-enactments
of so many unfinished things flashing by in meteor shower dreams
Unsaid words that are now whispered
to shadowy figures buried in the past
The dark abyss with mouth agape, ready to welcome this soul
aboard a grave ship sailing half-mast
Into the dim fluorescent room enters an unwelcome visitor,
dressed like a devout mortician in priest clothes
With weary eyes, he softly says to the parents,
last rites should be given when a soul is in death throes
One indignant voice and two pair of angry eyes,
unleashes a torrent of ridicule that catches the grim reaper by surprise
Words spoken in hot fury and pure faith,
knocks the unbidden false emissary back
The parents with one angry voice tell him:
We put our trust in God not man, on His mercy we will await
Then with prayers and fasting,
purifying their hearts in the well of hope everlasting ---
within a week, a mighty miracle is seen
Their son is brought back from the edge of death,
and they tell the man who read last rites, he can save his breath
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