Author Information
Crumbled
Maybe it's because we hate letting go
That we confine you
To hospital beds.
Maybe we want to hold on
For just a bit longer.
It doesn't matter
That you can barely understand
In your age,
What we say
As you mutter,
Shuddering under the sheets.
Maybe humanity isn't wired
To reconcile
Termination.
And Hope is the final bastion
In which we mire.
But as we pull up hospital chairs
And sit around
Optimistically,
Gnawing frantically on a crumb of hope
Dropped by the nurse,
It begins to set in:
How long can we do this?
Mash chunks into digestible bits
And force feed you a will
To survive?
You're crying out for God
But our grip won't loosen.
I hate to see you like this:
An array of tubes and fluids
Shoved beneath your
Precious wrinkles.
They said today's your last
And I think this time it's true
As we hang our heads
Staring at the floor
For more crumbs.
