Apocalypse Morning Poem by Chris Wiggins

Through an old decaying window
I feel a gentle breeze,
In this cool quiet morning
I can barely hear her breathe

In my mind,  this day I thought
Would never truly come,
But this day is here, now, and
Thy judgement will be done

Desperation lingers, sadness
Adorns the hall,
They hung a purple ribbon from
Outside my mother's door

Her beauty now a tender shell
So delicate like a flower,
It Is my deepest fear that
She'll have passed within the hour

Her raging battle calms, inside -
Her mite is all but gone,
The referee drawers a holt
And declares that cancer won

Letting go of her bruised hand
Is admission of her defeat,
Accepting our loss are the tears
Running down our cheek

To try and say one last goodbye
To someone always their,
To never see her face again
Is all too much to bare

We pack up all her cherished items
Into a bag with which she came,
Just a few small precious things
That helped to keep her sane

Outside, in the busying car park
I stand alone with everyone,
Feeling like a small lost child
Who's searching for his mum

The picture left in my head of her
Is not the one I saw today,
It is of beauty, love and kindness
And that will always stay