Words are dead like you now.
Dead like lungs that won’t breathe
Without a ventilator:
Sad COVID ridden bags
That don’t mean much when burnt,
Despite all the roads travelled,
Despite all the lessons learnt.
Eventually, they lie on paper,
Like dead lungs in plastic,
Left for those who may read,
If it falls within his creed.
Ultimately they are dead leaves,
Hanging on some dead tree,
For ghosts and strangers meaning
Nothing to you and nothing to me.
Do not wish upon a hope!
Grief is derailed,
Amid injections and responsibilities!
I’ve lost to death several times over –
The houses I live in
Are barren with old life –
And there’s nothing left to look ahead –
Except darkness and pain.
People talk to me of god,
And hope, and positivity –
I want them to come here,
Do what I am doing,
And then find the breath
To even speak.
I am broken like the #system
Of ambulances ringing out…
I have no strength left within me,
I no longer wish to shout.
There is a song in my head
It is beautiful and freeing;
And all who have gone before
Are the ones I am now seeing.
They come with smiles and open arms;
They come with the light of the moon;
They tell me they miss me;
Perhaps it’s time to join them soon.
Hearts Still Care 
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