Outside the palliative care home

Walking through a descending sky

By hallowed ground

Some hope I’ve found.

Here where weakness strikes

Right where fissures

Are likely to fracture

Falling apart revealing every flaw.

Here where you only qualify

To be here if you’re dying

And only leave when you’re dead.

The doctors skill is in diagnosis,

Never treating the disease.

It’s true that given the choice

Between sugar and truth

I’ll choose truth still

The gasoline aftertaste reminding

The importance of tact,

But not in honestys stead.

But look, examine where

These trenches have led me,

The tracks my train

Of thought has traveled

Have brought me here.

I am reminded that

There are yet things that grow

In the darkest hour of night,

And even things that require

That severity of bleakness to thrive.

Though I only bring them toothbrushes,

Gloves, and bandages

That sitting on the sideline

I may help sow some seeds

For some nocturnal haunting growth

In this place so full of death.

– Vagabond Prophet

Thanks @josy57 for the prompt “Sitting on the side line.” I hope you like it.