GOODBYE

I hold his hand,

It’s warm, but still.

Seconds tick by, minutes,

Has it already been an hour?

I steadfastly hold onto him,

He’s getting cold, as if entombed.

He looks merely asleep, lost in darkness,

Could the doctors be wrong?

I remember the long stare he gave me in those last moments,

A message, as if to say, ‘Farewell.’

His little chest heaving, fighting to breath,

Couldn’t the Reaper give him more time?

I stroke his hair for one last time,

Knowing I won’t hear his laughter or hold him,

Having seen him dance in the rain, sunshine in his eyes,

Is there a far crueler fate than to be the one left behind?