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
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
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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.
Very well done on a topic we all have to deal with at some point. Jamie