Shipwreck Poem by Chuck Toll

Heavily beached upon the bed,
Inert, eyes closed and body slack,
He lies attached by tubes and tape,
A bank of monitors at his back.

Perhaps he hears, the doctor says.
The coma should be slowly lifting.
But do our sounds mean anything?
Is there a purpose in his shifting?

Our vigil here is clearly marked
By duty more than love or choice.
The awkwardness in tone and touch
All speak with sad yet eloquent voice.

Dashed on the rocks by rolling seas
The tempests in his mind constructed,
What hope for him, or those of us
Whose feelings he so long obstructed?

Would that he grow well again,
Find love and peace, and seek to change
The pain his willful heart has brought
To all who’ve lived within his range.

If not, let’s pray he finds a gentler breeze
And smoother, calmer waters as he goes
That he could not find in life to help
The little boats he held in tow.