Ward Fifty Four

To live

In my hospital bed. 

Mummified in white linen. 

They come and go, and some I know; 

others I can’t be sure.  

They say, we’ve met before, 

and yes, 

perhaps we have. 

Laid out in my hospital bed 

perhaps only in dreaming. 

 

The daylight is cold,

It rushes passed the closed window. 

just passing, 

like visiting hour, 

where the talk of future seems so sour. 

and now,  

the light drains to dark; 

daylight grows fragile; so old, 

just left with dim electric glow 

 

They talk of many things. 

times long forgotten.

Like polished whispers, sunken 

deep, their eyes are wet, 

they know I've got a little life in me yet. 

see how, 

old tears roll , 

from what those memories bring; 

soak into the over washed cotton. 

 

the white sterilised walls 

grow on all sides with simplistic meaning 

just plain; just blank. 

Just to remind me, 

there is nothing left to see 

or do, 

or think. 

it reminds me that what seemed so big, is now small 

White walls, so deceiving 

 

I just see everything black right now 

I used to read 

to starve away that 

chill fear of dying. 

but now the darkness leaves me in tears, just sighing  

I cough 

droplets of blood 

from tests, sweat on my brow 

Has my lot now been decreed 

In my hospital bed 

waiting, among a chorus of beeps. 

Counting down every day and hour 

That I lived, 

but oh how I lived 

in joy 

With my children 

No fear, sadness: glory in Grace instead 

at peace, at last to sleep 

Author's Note

As always constructive criticism, feedback and observations are much appreciated