Final Hours

Accepting death

was not even something he could have dreamed,

he had the shortness of breath,

and all his memories streamed,

only his past screamed,

as he waited for the final hours,

he could touch, but he could not feel,

all his senses slowly vanishing,

his entire last day had seemed unreal,

everyone he knew visited,

but no one cried,

it was as if maybe he had actually already died,

and during the night

a dozen nurses both male and female

worked silently at their stations

with just a little light,

his emotions would melt,

and it felt,

for lack of a better term,

like purgatory,

making death a stand, very firm,

and that death was his story.