Book of Shiteu the 2nd

A Very...Broken Poem

6-7 August, 2017

"25th of June"

Long was the day of here and now
for my lifted spirits fell from the greatest of heights.
Sore is the wound that was left behind by
Through the glass, I saw a triggering sight
Your gray automobile, the color of your hair, sat Alone, no longer in use.
In park, it will remain Abandoned on the concrete driveway.
The car stirred a certain Suffering within me
I wanted to Escape having to feel this way,
but in this glass which I named Grief, I was Trapped.
Just by sight I can tell, like you, Cold is the vehicles frame.
Like you, it's engine Stopped running.
In my dry throat, my Sobs lumped
because witnessing your Abandoned car
resurfaces a memory
that my make my emotions want to Burn at the stake...

...By your side I will stay until your body goes Still.
It is my hand that you'll hold until you Let Go.
Not long is it before your muscles move on their own,
the muscles will contract in your feverish body...
But before your life approaches the Final Stretch,
you still hear us as we talk to you.
I know this because you squeeze me when asked,
"Can you hear me?"
You silently reply with your hand,
"Indeed I do."
Goodbyes they utter:
Your granddaughter,
Your step daughter,
The pastor, and
Your wife,
But not I.
As if your throat had been sliced and your airways filled with blood,
you gargle with every breath you take;
In your thorat, phlegm you cannot clear.
It's a terrible sound to bear, but I do so despite that fact.
When all but me and the pastor of your church were in your room,
the pastor reads aloud from the book of John
The words of Jesus Christ, as it is worded in the King James Version:
"In my Father's house are many mansions...I go to prepare a place for you."
Even though he knows you will not answer,
the pastor asks you about Heaven, what may or may not be there.
He reads more from the Gospels, feeds you Scripture, until he is done.
Then, only positive words I say to you, speaking of strictly good memories.
The things I have not told you, I tell you now:
You are loved, important, the "World's Greatest."
A father you were to me and my sister,
though in the literal form, your title begins with 'grand.'
If you could grace us with your smile One Last Time, you would.
Alas, your jaw gradually goes Slack.
Time ticks too quickly, your Last Hours Slipping Away, you Slipping Away.
The Hemorrhage causes your unspoken wisdom to Drain from your mind.
Endlessly Convulsing is your body, accompanied by a frown.
Sweating are you, for your temperature skyrockets.
I feel your grip on mine squeeze,
your nails buried deep in the flesh of my palm.
I allow it, though, for I know it's not in your control.
On speaker, your relatives are blubbering painful Goodbyes,
but I know you cannot hear them, ot in this life.
These words they speak, it reaches only us in this room, but not you.
Goodbyes they utter:
Your daughter,
Your son in law,
Your son, and
Your eldest brother
But not I.
We play your favorite song
and I Can Only Imagine what your reaction would be could you show it;
the happiness that would be displayed on your features
because you are surrounded by love.
The pastor recites your favorite Bible verses and we bow our heads in prayer.
He sings a beautiful hymn to his Passing senior and we pray once more
before the pastor makes his Last Leave.
We all must sleep, though our sleep is light.
I woke to a room of Panicked women,
for your body's natural reaction kicked in.
It must empty your stomach's contents, so you wretch.
I stand out of the way as I was told and watch in close proximity
as the two women turn your stiff body on its side.
Nobody wants you to drown in your own vomit.
Your wife cradles your head and strokes your damp hair.
"Let Go," she repeats in your ear, shushing your sluggish wheezes.
"It's okay, you can Let Go."
I turn my attention to my mother for one second,
and when I looked at you again,
no longer did a single trace of life exist within your Shell.
A gargling wheeze you emit one last time...
5 bodies in this house, but only 4 beating hearts.
Peaceful expressions the Dead do display, but not you.
You look Empty, Drained, Dead.
Your skin is gray, like your car you liked so much.
You are but a fleshy Corpse now.
I touch my hand to your Hollow cheek,
expecting the same warmth I felt only an hour earlier,
but I meet dampened, clammy skin
with the chill of Cold metal...

Kissing the hood of a gray car on a winter morning is what it resembled
when I placed a Final kiss upon your right cheek.
In a Stone-like state on a stretcher your "earth suit" lay.
The men from the Morgue had been patient.
They waited for us four to say Goodbye once again,
and then you were hauled away.
Seeing the car that sits in the driveway
set the mental cinema of your Final Hours on repeat.
A Boa Constrictor making prey of my neck,
the Stabbing of a thousand Knives in my chest,
a pro boxer endlessly Pummeling my gut;
never could those actions compare
to remembering your Last day alive.
Everyone uttered to you their Goodbyes
but not I
for man's soul does not Die.