Accident

It hurts to move; it hurts to speak, to breathe;
To realise, with every single breath,
She might exhale a final little death,
Though she can light this room, with silent ease:
For she is now the centre of attention,
Where once she was a flower by a wall,
And yes, so shy in shadow; they may stall
Recollecting, yet, it's worth a mention:
They eulogise, they pray, they hope; they fear
Now the intensity can't be surpassed;
There's tension in the air; and love exerts
New pressures, for the time is drawing near
When any second left could be the last;
It hurts to move, to speak, to breathe: it hurts.