The night. <br />The deep dark aching pain. <br />The silent screaming pain. <br /> <br />The Doctor said it may be to late now. <br />Said that she might die, <br />Today, tonight. <br /> <br />Amazing how the breath goes out of you <br />With the sound of such simple words: <br />She might die, today, tonight. <br /> <br />Simple words for an unfathomed thought. <br />Easier that he said that I might die, <br />Today, tonight. <br /> <br />With my death, <br />My heart would not be torn out and pierced, <br />This pain and fear would not wrench and twist my soul. <br /> <br />But it does at the very real possibility of hers. <br />It does at the emptiness of it. <br />It does at my helplessness. <br /> <br />I has been three days. <br />She still breathes and knows my face. <br />Yet there is a raven perched upon her chamber door. <br /> <br />It is a frightening, horror of a sight. <br />A helpless, horror, hollow sight <br />She might die, today, tonight.<br /><br />Sandra Osborne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/death-168/
