Broken Hearted

March 10, 2008
By Tayler Watts, Clarkston, MI

Our hands intertwine
and he looks at me like a angel
for what will be the last time.
He tells me, "Stay strong and never let go."
As our wet cheeks stain the white bed in this white room with the red cross above our heads
and the rhythm of out hearts cease to mingle:
His fade slowly like a broken beat to a sad song--Mine reach the sky
Watching him helplessly weaken as I cry,
he whispers my name once, twice, and three times
as my free hand stretches for the alarm, but we know it's too late
when his hand captures mine with what small strength his has left
and he tells me that he wants my face to be the last he sees before death.
As the golden clouded gates steal him from me,
the white coats arrive, doing both heroic and useless things.
Your hand slips from mine and your eyes stop looking at my heart that has fallen apart.

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