A Fevered Night, Unscheduled Departure II
I creep into your room, my steps are unsteady,
You went to bed with symptoms of the flu,
A soft child’s breath is what I seek,
To touch, to comfort—to ensure peace.
But as I peel back the covers, I find
Your stillness is no longer sleep.
I call your name, my voice trembling,
Attempt to rouse you from your peace,
But you are gone!
A sudden wave of uncertainty breaks within me,
Disbelief swells and surges like a storm.
The room turns hollow, an unwelcome truth,
Settling in its silenced air.
My baby went to bed with just the flu,
An unscheduled departure is cruelly swift.
God knew, but I did not,
That He would take you!
Leave me unprepared, wracked with regret.
What I did not say now pours forth in shouts,
Words too late, too loud,
As I lay beside your peaceful body,
My last act: motherly comfort,
Seeking solace where none can be found.
Had I known this night would steal you,
I would have held you close,
Rocked you gently to eternal peace.
I wish to see you breathe again,
To tell you I love you,
Through trembling lips and erupting cries.
Your name I scream, your absence I mourn.
An unscheduled departure only deprives,
As a fevered night became a thief,
stealing breaths that should have lasted a lifetime.
In time, I may learn to bear this change,
But not today—today is soaked in pain.
A forever missing piece, a fractured frame,
My soul reshaped, yet never the same,
From a fevered night.
Copyright ©
James Chapman
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