Death Poem by Sandra Osborne

The night.
The deep dark aching pain.
The silent screaming pain.

The Doctor said it may be to late now.
Said that she might die,
Today, tonight.

Amazing how the breath goes out of you
With the sound of such simple words:
She might die, today, tonight.

Simple words for an unfathomed thought.
Easier that he said that I might die,
Today, tonight.

With my death,
My heart would not be torn out and pierced,
This pain and fear would not wrench and twist my soul.

But it does at the very real possibility of hers.
It does at the emptiness of it.
It does at my helplessness.

I has been three days.
She still breathes and knows my face.
Yet there is a raven perched upon her chamber door.

It is a frightening, horror of a sight.
A helpless, horror, hollow sight
She might die, today, tonight.