Living My Own Death
I can tell you exactly when it happened. I was sat on one of those plasticy leatherette chairs. You know the ones, they have them in all hospitals, they're easy to wipe clean if someone has a little accident. I had my hand clasped about my wife's fingers and though I knew I was squeezing them too hard she didn't complain.
She, the doctor that is, or should I say consultant? Anyway, she leant in towards us and said, “I'm sorry, the cancer has spread.....
the black grey storm clouds lifted from my eyes
and i knew every moment
and a whispered movement of air caressed my dead skin
with a reflective hint
the intoxicating warmth of existence in the absence
of my future want
the id of creation within the eternity of my son’s eyes
as he mourned
my lover with the corpse cold hand of my regret
recognising her beauty
the treasures i had strived for and knew them for nought
empty and stagnant
as was i
yet in my death never could be more alive
my resurrection was
.….I heard the soft sound of my wife sobbing beside me.