The Waiting Game – The Final Moments of a Dying Man

Tick, tick, tick…

Seconds lasting an eternity

Every breath lasts forever plus an hour

My eyes feel weary but I cannot sleep

Are they closed or maybe open

Either way I cannot see

I’ve counted sheep, visited memories

And yet I’m still awake

A tiny sound is a huge distraction

The machines are beeping, clock ticking

The bed squeaking a haunting tune

My mind is running on overdrive

Thinking colliding with thoughts

Thoughts being reconsidered

Redelivered and repurposed

And every moment reborn again

I don’t deserve this, or perhaps I do

Asking why is not the answer

Nor the question, or anything else

It’s just a waiting game

But I’m really not sure what exactly I’m waiting for

Glowing skies or a warming trend

Perhaps a secret escape plan

Will something great be suddenly revealed

Or perhaps tragedy stands outside the door

I’m so tired, it doesn’t matter

Looking for answers that never come

It’s been this way for so many days

The temperature is wrong, the light too bright

Tossing and turning is a constant fight

My days are sluggish, I’m a moving corpse

Somehow a prisoner of this waiting game

But why I cry, in a simple whisper

When will the ending be revealed

I’ve made no error, done nothing of consequence

The seconds linger while I’m contemplating

I need some answers, but not a raven

For adding fear might be the final straw

Confusion quickly becoming my master

A fog that permeates my every notion

It’s as if I drank a terrible potion

And some strange force is pushing me

The darkness and the ceiling taunting

This waiting game has become my jailer

Hope is lost and now my sanity fading

I’m slipping away but I’m not moving

Until at last I see a great light

An open door and a hand outstretched

Then a message in my head

The game is over

And the story ends

The waiting game

Author’s Message

Human beings have always wondered what dying would be like.  This poem is just a random thought about the end (no, I’m not dying or planning on it for about another few hundred years).  It was inspired by a story I read about a man who was in a coma and eventually passed. It made me think about what his last thoughts might have been; perhaps his body was unresponsive, but maybe his subconscious was still generating random thoughts and they swam through his head like reality, when in fact he never even moved.

If You are a Fan of the Unexplained, Mysterious and just plain weird, then stop by The Gypsy Thread

More Poetry by R.J. Schwartz can be found here

Published Works Available on Amazon

The Lover’s Thread, Poetry of Love and Romance

Poetry of the Human Condition, The Ups and Downs of Modern Living

The Creative Exiles an anthology of poems: Let the Words Speak

Latest posts by R J Schwartz (see all)
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R J Schwartz

I write about everything and sometimes nothing at all. I'm fascinated by old things, rusty things, abandoned places, or anywhere that a secret might be unearthed. I'm passionate about history and many of my pieces are anchored in one concept of time or another. I've always been a writer, dating back to my youth, but the last decade has been a time of growth for me. I'm continually pushing the limitations of vocabulary, syntax, and descriptive phrasing.

2 thoughts on “The Waiting Game – The Final Moments of a Dying Man

  • February 25, 2022 at 10:48 PM
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    Oh! Thank goodness you are not dying, Ralph. I would be quite lost here without you. This poem is a great thinking process of what a dying man might be going through mentally and emotionally. The imagery and phrasing create a very realistic situation. I admire your creative and intellectual skills.

    Reply

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