Moon at Half Past Noon

The scent of sterile halls, a memory lingers,
A whispered prayer from fading fingers.
Each yawn, a battle, breath a fragile thread,
Counting the heartbeats, unsaid words unsaid.

The hospital room, a canvas stark and white,
Reflected fears in the dim, electric light.
Machines hummed a lullaby, a rhythmic, steady drone,
As hope and dread upon my spirit shone.
My days, a pendulum, swinging to and fro,
With every dose, a fragile seed to sow.
And then, the quiet spaces, an empty bed,
Another soul, like mist, had quietly fled.
Each silent removal, a jolt, a chilling sting,
A silent question of what the morrow would bring.

When daylight waned, the nights became a theater, cold and deep,
Where nightmares gathered while the world would sleep.
My children’s faces, vivid, young, and bright,
Then snatched away by an encroaching night.
A gasp, a tremor, waking with a start,
The cold grip of terror clutching at my heart.
“Just a few days more,” a silent plea I’d send,
“Let me witness dawn, see this journey’s end.”
To God, I’d bargain, tears a silent stream,
“Spare me the pain, this agonizing dream.
Not for myself, but for the ones I leave behind,
A few more moments, solace for my mind.”

And from that silent plea, a daughter’s prayer now calls, Whispered from my soul, within these quiet walls.
That in my dreams, I don’t lose all control,
No fleeting shadows of your last, frail sigh,
No echoing pain beneath a somber sky.
Just peace, dear Mother, a light serene and true,
A gentle knowing that your spirit flew
To realms beyond the reach of earthly strife,
Released from suffering, embraced by endless life.
May your memory be a comfort, pure and deep,
While in my heart, your love I’ll forever keep.