Poetry in Medicine

Introducing the Newest Section of My Blog . . . “Poetry in Medicine” with first entry: “During the Night”

During the Night

Earl Stewart, Jr.

 

I whispered gently to her

That he was in good hands.

I had taken that grand stand

In solemn vow that I valued his life,

I fathomed her pain,

As I gathered the history of his strife.

 

Disease is a strange thing—

How it rips and roars through the conscience of humanity, suddenly or

Over the long term.

She mentioned that the former

Was his plight.

She mentioned now how the dimness

Of his life light, how it

Threw the family they together

Fostered into such a great fright.

She mentioned how he had always been one known to fight.

 

I examined him, there lying

In supine and stuporous repose,

With hand and tool,

But her examination came

of the heart, the mind, the soul.

I could gather that her

Soul was troubled, that

Her anxiety stemmed from uncertainty,

No matter how much I explained

The detail of his care.

All she cared was that I simply cared

Enough to be there.

 

Her eyes so erythematous,

From reflecting over the days gone by,

How now she would be faced

With a void he would inexorably leave

Through no fault of his own volition,

How his condition would terminally

Affect her condition.

 

I left that night.

And the next day, just a few hours later, returned

Only to learn

That during the night,

A line had been drawn on my census

Through his name.

And when I looked up,

They were both gone.

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