I Won’t Answer the Reaper Yet
I kiss the icing encrusted cheek of the birthday girl and reluctantly set her down
The pain has increased and seems to thrive on the chaos in the room
I go to sit and the pain tears through my chest like a jagged piece of glass
Clutching I start to fall and in my head I see visions of gloom and doom
The couch breaks my fall and the room quiets suddenly to a deathly silence as I topple
All except the birthday girl, she laughs wondering what new game I am playing
Things spinning through my head in wispy tendrils of thought as I ask for Nitro
Frantic searching and finally someone hands me the bottle and I’m spraying
Pain subsides and hides back in its secret locker, not my time just yet
Time to sneak away and rest till I can breathe the air of painless submission
Kiss the child one quick hug then bye-bye into the darkened quiet of my room
The reaper called by I ignored his invitation in favour of one more remission.
Monette
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in tx., karen lynn. :(
Don't you dare answer that call! We still have a poem to write, remember?
I know how frightening those spells can be. Throughout my whole childhood, my Father had them frequently. He was never a well man, but managed somehow to live to 72, before finally answering his call, but I can't count the number of times, I had to dig in his pocket for that tiny bottle of nitro, put them under his tongue, while calling an ambulance.
My prayers are with you my friend..now go lay down and get some rest!
Lisa
~Linda
Take care,
Sherry