Flat Line Poem by Stephen Howard

Flat Line



Standing at the foot of your bed.
I watch the monitors just above your head.
The sounds and lights begin to race.
I know that they do not run at a regular pace.
The doctors rush in, fighting for adequate space.
I look into their eyes, searching for hope but find not a trace.
I stand at the foot of your bed, knowing that you are dead.

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Stephen Howard

Stephen Howard

Steilacoom, Washington
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