Songs Of Prometheus

there will be a baby crying
in the next room, but not yet
people are still standing around
my bed and I'm still on my last breaths
they won't leave until I have gone
a brown leaf about to fall

I remember the white foam of waves
not rampaging bulls in Spanish streets
but subtle colourings of children's books
gently paging in rippling tides by bare feet
sand on toes in fizziness
those waves, they kept on repeating

some are probably praying
others counting along with the clock
they stand around my bed
some I want to leave, others I want to stay with
I've done the fighting, I've done the pleading
cue the baby in the next room