Editor Christopher Writes – #PoemADayForAYear: 16/06/15

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

off-white sheets.

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

before execution.

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.

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