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.
Vagabond Prophet 