What Will I Become? Poem by Billy Fitzgerald

Lying here surrounded by them,
With their slow melodious beeping,
In the small private asylum,
I have come to call my home,

I now cannot help but ponder,
On these interesting contraptions,
That have rid my life of wonder,
Is this all I have become?

Once a child who laughed so merry,
Now attached to drips and piping,
Snaking all around my body,
From the stand above my bed

So I fill my days with thinking,
‘bout the tools that they’ll be using,
Just to stop my pulse from sinking,
Down to what they know as “Dead”.

All at once I see it clearly,
As I gaze into the lighting,
That my time is up now nearly,
And the fear engulfs my mind.

For whence, where and how I’m going,
(As I am I’ve been assured,
By the beeping that’s all knowing) ,
I am little more than blind.

Within myself I scream “I must
escape these chains of misery, ”
And thus I now begin to plunge,
Into the depths of my old soul.

As I search oh horror grips me,
And I stand to watch quite hopeless,
As my life unfolds it hits me,
‘Twas not living was my goal.

For in death we get our freedom,
As we go into our slumber,
We remove from out our person,
All the troubles that we’ve seen.

So we should go with open arms,
Towards this place that no one knows,
Because there can’t be much more harm,
Out there than places that we’ve been.

Lying here surrounded by them,
With their slow melodious beeping,
In this small private asylum,
I am proud to call my home,

I just cannot help but ponder,
On these interesting contraptions,
That now fill my days with wonder,
Thinking “what will I become? ”