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.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: standing
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8/28/2026 2:20:20 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
