A Cubist View on Death

A cubist poem about a man on his death bed with family and friends around

Death

By Austin Smith

I'm laying there

On my deathbed.

Only surviving

Because of this machine.

I am this only man's hope

I beep

I beep a lot

All of a sudden, 

My display has flatlined.

I am crying.

On my knees

Begging for his life back.

Screaming at the doctor to save my brother.

"Save him please!"

I can't save him.

I have to put this machine back for another day.

As i roll the machine to the closet,

I feel guilty for the passing of this man.

His life, taken for no reason.

His family and friends left to cry,

Because he has died.