Waiting Hour Poem by kharon march

The slow elapse of time is only regarded by the ticking of the clock. 'Tick, tock, tick, tock'. I brace for impact as the door to the operating room swings open I stand and face fact for this pain is with cause, its supposed to hurt. So I look the doctor in the eyes clenching my fist tighter then gauze wrapped around a fractured limb, praying that her condition has not deteriorated again. The doctor does his best impression of the truth and spares me attempts to blunt the sting so he musters the heart to bring fourth his diagnosis. We can't stop the scarlet red oil seeping profusely from her head, it won't be long before she is laying frigid, rigid, and dead, we will afford you time to vocalize the things never said. I stand trying not to allow my weight to buckle my knees. I pray to god begging him to here my pleas, don't let her slip away I shall go in her stead if it means she shall stay. I trudge to her side burying my head into her womb hoping that her warmth will swoon my soul, she weakly caresses my cheek her life force draining all the while from her meek frame. I try to find the right thing to say for beyond this she will not live to see another day. I just weep, I weep harder then ever before this pain is just to deep to eminence to ignore. I tell her everything I tell her how I love her every minute of every second of every day I tell her I'm sorry for the things that I would never say until now until she is approaching death. I spend every ounce of time spilling my emotion out onto my breath. Until I hear that accursed prolonged beep signifying a life left. I sit dumb... struck for her ship has departed from the dock, and now I am alone with that same rhythmic clock 'tick, tock, tick, tock'. On this day I woke up oblivious to the day my love would die, and though I couldn't always sufficiently relay my love please no that I truly did try.