By Thomas R. Bates
I cannot get out of my head,
Nor do I necessarily want to,
The image of the one time you
Wept, eyes red, wet with tears,
During those last weeks of your
Painfully slow decline into death.
You seemed to face it and accept it
So stoically without any regrets,
But only once in a moment of
You let your emotions show,
Unspoken through your tears.
I only wish I knew exactly
What was the cause—
Thoughts of fear?
Thoughts of death?
Thoughts of missing life?
Thoughts of missing me?
All of these, none of these?
I will never know, but I do know
It was the saddest thing I have ever
Seen in my life and all I could do was
To wipe the tears gently from your face.
Thomas R. Bates has been writing poetry off & on since 1995, mostly in a personal journalistic style.