Faster, faster they traversed
Along the pavements newly road
Pedaling with all their strength
With one on the board
And the other on the bike
Vigor inscribed on both their faces

The pedals immobilize
All becomes hushed

His body breathless
With affliction nonetheless
In which he would by no means endeavor to confess

The boy on the bike running
Running to his side
Praying so ardently he did
Inquiring for life
But only to envisage an end

The boy gave an outcry
But none perceive sound
Analyzing his pulse
And shrieking aloud

A woman lofty and slender came she
Wailing with the words
“My boy, my boy,
What happened to he?”

The sirens came quickly
listening to sirens
he sits in judgment
With none an utter

They lift him high
High off the ground
Into the machine
The machine with gyrating wings

Innocent but culpable
The atonement longed to pay
Boy dying today
Never to be saved

He sat in the cold room
Sad and lonely
The boy’s tears streaming down his face

It was near—the figure
The figure that once drew him close
It stood in the doorway
It hinted a sign of regret

Desolation fixed in its face
Depravity written in the figure’s eyes
Watching the whole thing fall

The room reeks of death
Trepidation is the solitary visual
It is as a white washed tomb

I am the figure
The figure in the doorway
One of whom did steadily
But wearily draw him dear

I took his hand
His hand in mine
I prayed “Dear LORD…
Captivate thine.”

Nurses and Doctors scatter like mice
All shouting “one…two…three…”
His chest looking on

My eyes grew weary
But I lay there still
Hoping praying
Seeking a route
Angst being the absence

Yet again as a choir they sang
They sang with intensity
The tune not to be trifled with:
“One…two…three…”
His chest looking to the heavens
With an electric combustion

A lack of air amongst us all
At the sound of the drums
My heart would fall

Once more
All hold another’s breath
Time seemed to stand
As my soul fell into the depth
The gravity of the epiphany
“One…two…three…”

I would like to say all went well
I yearn converse of jubilee
Even sorrow lacks enough to dispel

Once again as it did before
His chest sprang upward
And through this on toward…
To nothing I know; to nothing I’m sure

Sound went hollow
Heads draped down
Not a soul dare move from its place

I searched the sea of faces
Looking at him with maternal intention
Seeking an answer
Other than what was proposed

I gently kissed his hand
It was cold indeed
His face pallor
And deemed discreet
I shrieked inside seeking for a cure

I sat there a moment and thought he
That ostentatiously grave clown
He triumphed…!
Did he?

Seventy- five days
And I’m still sober
Left all my weeds but kept the flowers
Seventy-five days I hurt

Seventy-five letters
I sought his face seventy-five times
For on my knees seventy-five days
On my knees to seek thine Master of mine

Call upon the name of the Father did he
The boy saw—
Fragile but strong
Sang simply the tune of Death’s sweet song

Seven times the boy denied himself
Seven times he remembered them
Seven times he could see him
Seven times he sought Him
This once was not forgotten

And though I still endeavor to seek his soul
Mine has been sought out through the LORD
Forever his heart shall be held
His life never seeking the end

This is the life and death of my friend
So he lived as Christ
And to death to death he made amends

To cherish forever more
The Remembrance of a slave
But at liberty, the Richest of the Poor.