- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Visiting hour
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A yellowed peak of hair against the pile
of pillows his thin frame lies propped against,
half-open mouth, his lower dentures out
to take the hurt away, eyes closed he lies
while I sit watching as he floats from sleep
to shallow sleep, and stirs; I listen to
his breathing sink away and come again
as one old, bony hand upon the sheets,
not consciously directed, slowly moves
in a weak grip that serves no purpose, run
by random signals somewhere in a brain
too tired to let him eat, or drink, or speak -
just that, the noise the central heating makes
and voices down the corridor, and then
the far-off sound of freedom from a car.
- COMMENTS
DawnJabout 11 years ago..."from sleep to shallow sleep". Reminds me of a line from another poem, put to music: "Age and decay in all around I see." A sharply poignant image, my friend!
