Organ Donor Poem by Mark Heathcote

He's laid in the ICU
feeling kind of cold and icy-blue
he knows he's cut a deal with the devil
and that he won't last too long,
his heart is still, pumping smooth and slow,
but his soul is hiding in sedition.
Hope is a pulse frozen within a Nanosecond.
You've got to hang…soar like an angel and pretend
you've still got at least one good friend.
And your soul won't catch fire in the rear-view mirror.
And you have no desire to burn-
anymore…rubber off your road slick tyres.

He's laid in the ICU one-
Grand Prix pit stop from screwing it all up.
A surgeon's knife circles his heart
as it's still pumping smooth and slow,
it bleeds like a lesion with an even steady flow,
now it's time to cut loose
cure that leprosy with one last final kiss.
Break a deal that was always somehow promised.
Save another's life and silently let go…
Remembering forgiveness sets us all free.
That many roads are travelled.
But only one is liberty.