Here is a poem. The inspiration has come from the title of one of the assignments I had to do for the philosophy module I have just completed.
His arms, as weathered and
furrowed as tide-beaten sand,
seemed to float on top of
Matching furrows washed across his
forehead as though he was
dedicating every thought to his
next breath, which clattered into
his lungs and sanded his throat
on the way out.
Each one was fought for, slowly,
without any sense of victory.
The sound of various machines bleeping
him alive and the rain outside was
almost melodic to her, sat in a
hard-cushioned teal armchair next
to the bed. The harmony of nature and
technology was cosmogyral in a
head devoid of all thought.
She simply sat and stared.
resting her paper-thin hand on his.
As the rain stopped, he said
his final words.
‘It’s’ rattled from between arid lips.
‘time’ bled out ten seconds later.
He squeezed her hand and smiled,
the skin around his mouth cracked
as desert earth.
She stood from the chair,
each movement deeply considered
Using the bed barriers to steady herself,
she reached behind the bed
and rested a trembling hand on the
first switch. A few moments later,
she flicked the last.
In his final fight, he was defeated,
lacking the breath to thank her.