Last Rites
Should I lie helpless near Death’s gaping maw —
My body broken by long years of wear
Beyond mind’s management; my bloodied raw
Heart torn, gored by predacious, sharp-toothed care
During my lifelong struggles to endure,
(Despite its injuries), some moments more —
She would not suffer me to suffer, hapless there,
Alone and comfortless in existential fear.
Despite past disagreements, she would come,
(My Angel of Compassion), to sustain
Me through the trauma of Death’s vitium —
That dreaded dissolution mid the pain
Of soul scimitaring from flesh in dumb
Disintegration — when the vital chain
Of my existence is unlinked and roughly flung
Apart as my last faculties become unstrung.
She’d bring to me the courage to prevail,
Serene, as I osmose from this lost life
To that fraught future inkling the vague veil
Of hope’s uncertainties. Her blest relief
Would wash the sweat of weakness from my pale
Forehead, ease my heart’s hurts, restore belief.
So loyal, brave and generous in love, my wife
Would guide me over to the other side of life!.
