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.