if I try,
clouds could create the illusion,
that they’ve come down on to earth,
to create a coffin for her,
a place for her to lay,
in peace,
maybe the clouds would be comfier,
then her disease ridden bed,
where she shifts from side to side,
trying to escape death from each corner of her bed,
maybe not escape but waiting,
to await death,
with your family at your side,
what a strange calamity,
so I sit and make her laugh,
about men and women,
and she asks whether he has called,
I say its been a while,
she say’s it’ll be all okay,
I close my eyes,
find the strength from my insides,
to try and not let weakness leak from my eyes,
the wetness now wallowing in balls of fluid,
I let it drain but it won’t stop ringing,
So I lay,
by her side,
with open script in hand,
reading to her,
by her side,
and watching her sleep.