The sound of the elevator, reaching the hospital floor I know so well.
What feels like a walk of terror- is only the awfully familiar, narrow white-walled hallway.
Not knowing what I'll see, Not knowing what to expect, Not knowing if you even remember your own daughter.
As I reach room 213, The tik-tok of the time telling clock is all I can comprehend. Along with my own fearful thoughts wondering if you'll ever be able to walk or talk just once again.
As I collapse at the foot of your hospital bed, negative thoughts fill my head telling me you're already dead- oh, father.
What was the last thing I said?
Would I regret it in the end, Why must you be laying still in bed.
Some sort of improvement I just wish to see,
Some sort of movement; for reassurance from this debris.
The tiktok of the time telling clock.
The only other lively company in such a grim place,
Reminding me of my brain dead father and how he has lost his colors- The colors I once knew so well.
Your boundless- artificial aura excels with tragedy:
Increased mistrust, lack of energy, the desperation of returning home.
As the tik-tok of the time telling clock continues its melody,
so shall you father, as resilient as the rising sun.
Unforgettable, as it was constantly the only response I'd receive
when i'd tell you those three words.
Those three simple words I still long to hear-
" I love you "
Being a rare occurrence hearing them before,
I now crave them much more than ever.
Still accompanied by the tolerable,
The tiktok of the time telling clock-
A constant reminder of how much I miss you.
YOU ARE READING
my poetry - kelsey loch
Poetrymy personal work, all written by me - i post them here so i can reflect on myself and my writing easily. writing is my greatest passion, and i hope you love my work. all feedback is appreciated!
