His wrinkled skin hangs against
The crispness of the sheets
No decadent surroundings
The darkness of the frosted morning
Blanketed by cotton drapes
Connected to wires that
Monitor his heart and
The hand on the clock
Moves another space
He waits alone much as he lives
This sterile room brightly lit
His mind on hold for a diagnosis
He shakes from fear not cold
The noise of people walking
Wont allow his body to rest
He remembers the silence
Before bombs hit the streets
Those he dragged to safety
Tending to their wounds
Medicine was scarce back then
Some died in his arms
He blearily eyed thanked the
Nurse who brought a cup of tea
His manners remained impeccable
He was raised this way
Help him see the light of tomorrow
With the curtains drawn
Without the starchiness of
Cold sheets, let him return
Though he lives alone
To sleep within his quiet space
With the memories of home
Copyright 27.8.2014
Ramblings From A Mum 