Friday, July 11, 2014

you looked on him

as if he were Christ descending on His throne

your ultimate hero

the one who would carry you save to some heaven

now as he lies there choking up

his innards and puking out his poisons

and semi-comatose in a puddle of his sorrows

his glistening eyes cannot see you

nor can he recall how often you turned him

and changed the sheets and fed him

his useless soup and murmured prayers he could only disdain

oh give him his last air and give him his final hates

whether eternity or nothingness await behind his end

neither he nor you can know the outcome of your apprehensions

Content (c) 2008-2014 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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