Watching...

The last night with my dad in the hospital...

Watching...
Watching...
Watching...
Watching my dead friend turn white as paper, letting the life of him
Wash his color out.
For he no longer lives...
I sit there, not able to cry.
For I am writing of true occurrences...
Eight hours, thirty minutes, in and out of the room...
The last few minutes, we knew death was to come.
I crawl upon his deathbed, I sit on him for awhile.
I get off of him,
Go sit by my mother,
Hold her hand,
Hold my father's hand...
Soon, very soon the clock stroke eight-thirty,
And my father's swollen head turned color to
Deathly white, as well as his whole body...
At that moment,
I was just watching,
Watching...
Watching...
Watching...

Author's Note

Please review this.

Reviews

[Xavier Sedah]

Thanks

[Aleyah]

Really powerful write, here. I love how "Watching..." is repeated several times, it adds a lot of atmosphere & intensity. Amazing imagery & vocabulary, great piece.

[Xavier Sedah]

Thank you

[Angela]

This is incredibly pain ridden. I am so sorry you had to experience this. I am so glad you are writing. So wistful and full of pain. I hate to make any suggestions when it is a poem from the heart, but changing stroke to struck makes it grammatically correct. Good job.