Dying Alone

Modern day warriors

on the front lines of big cities

and small towns.

They walk the narrow path,

their minds wide open,

their hearts stretched.

The scrubs,

masks and gear they adorn

do not shield them from 

the vulnerability of the moments

hanging in a haze.

 The shifts are long,

days stretched into nights.

Hours that wear on the mind and soul.

They watch the sick,

the fragile,

those 

that want to take a breath

but can not.

Those that fade away dying alone,

alone,

alone.

The room empty

no love whispered,

nor prayers.

Poetry on their skin

as their eyes drift.

The ventilators stand guard,

voices heard through the corridor walls.

There is no parole from this prison,

no furlough.

There are monitors and screens
displaying vital signs 

and humans in spacesuits.

There are memories that play with the mind

in and out of awareness. 

A nurse holds a phone

to witness a last goodbye

to cherished ones.

Fragments of a conversation,

amends for words unspoken,

for dreams unfulfilled.

One more day,

one more night,

if only...