Kivorkian may not me right,
but he is not entirely wrong
In life we dread the thought of death
could it be that in death
we dread the thought of life?
Did you know there is a place, in Africa,
where the elephants go.
When they know, feel, sense
it’s time to die.
They complete this act of nature
because it’s buried deep
inside their bones.
we have places ourselves,
but whether or not
we know, feel or sense
we, are not allowed
if tired or in pain, they keep us going
if the breathing stops, they breathe for us
if the heart stops, it pumps, forcing you
to lay in wait, sunk to the depths of sheets
- see you under care.
death has trouble penetrating,
delayed by machines.
He sneaks by once and a while
always late collecting clients
for their final appointments.
Though the spirit is willing
devices do not allow
weakened bodies to release
to carry on to the next stage
their curtain call awaits
just one breath
a heart beating tremor lost,
but we cannot.
- see U. cannot take the long walk
up to the mountain top
where the elephants venture.
The empty carriage awaits
at the crossroads,
Tenants held captive on one side
of a thin vein between death and life.
- C. you holding us trapped.
A fragile shell of self-realization
dignity removed from an empty house
a favorite chair left unoccupied.
Locked in bones wrapped in leather
tissue unmoved by muscles
too frail to lift tendons too weak to hold.
The definition of a living skeleton
Air pushing past beneath sunken lips
around teeth-long fallen away.
Robotic beds bend, lift and turn
to lift the human rotisserie of flesh
that screams for release
beeps, whistles and flashes of light
tease the end is nigh, and spread
a rumored account of heart beats
one, by one, by, one.
Every orifice filled with tubes
give air, take air, fluid
for pain is no longer death.
Pain is life.
I step from the dark I. C. U.
A plug in my pocket for rest
and I no longer fear
the peaceful long dirt nap
I fear life, ever-lingering.