On the Edge of Death

She looks so peaceful, sleep. The room is dark, unknown. Her eyes closed, visions. The bed is soft, floating. Her hands empty, alone. The drugs keep the peace, relief, Her mind allowed to wonder, confused The time is slowed, meaningless Her body at the edge, tired The air is still, calm. Her spirit is proceeding, patients. The faith solid, proud. She as spirit and faith, a comfort to me and her, I am sure. I see her peace is shattered. The room is dark, foreboding. Her eyes opened, reality The bed is hard, pulling. Her hands clinched, pain. The drugs are weakening, panic. Her mind focused, misery. The time is coming, fear. Her body is tortured, alive The air is fouled, agitated. Her spirit is braking, trepidation. The faith shaking, ashamed. I must act, again. The room must be lit The bed must be cleaned. The drugs must be administered. The time must be counted. The air must be freshened. The faith must be renewed I prey for her spirit. I massage her body I entertain her mind I hold her hands. I look into her eyes. And the peace returns. She looks so peaceful. The room is dark. Her eyes closed. The bed is clean. Her hands are in mine. The drugs keep the peace. Her mind wonders. The time is past. Her body at rest. The air is a haze. Her spirit is away. The faith must remian. She as spirit and faith, that is a great comfort to us, all.