And what if this was all it is
Nice to meet you, old friend.
I always knew you were there,
somewhere between id and ego.
You were the pulse of conscience
acting before the brain could re-act,
the voice sighing
stop
oh stop
so softly, lost in the breeze, a myth.
Now all is silent but the hissbump
of the ventilator;
you are not within but outwith.
In. Out. I drift. But breathe. You wait
beyond my sight.
Today is the day for a choice to be made.
Do you feel for yourself or only through us?
Like childbirth the first time; the agony
the not-knowing.
You feel the wave crash down through
and through,
and think there is no bearing it; yet you do,
and keep on bearing unbearable masses
until eternity flares in the eyes
of your child and the terror just... passes.
You forget. Still we persist.
I remember when young thinking
"Go through all this mess?
this horror?
Gladly choose a life of pain
then choose it again?"
What a silly thing to be a living creature,
replicating.
It has not been a bad life. A lover, a child conceived.
Unhappiness, given and received.
And so, so much stupidity.
If I could do it all over again would I hear
your soft sigh
stop oh
stop?
The boredom though, of eternal perfection,
it has been fun to be flawed, sometimes.
There is a small crease in the sheet
beneath my thigh.
I cannot move.
I think I am suffering.
I know I shall not wake and find life
just a dream,
a soft sigh
whispered stop
oh stop.
I remember one spring, fresh wind
heady with coconut from gorse
blazing yellow in the sun.
The sound of bees and skylarks
a symphony, salt sweet
tang of his mouth on my lips falling,
falling
into ecstacy.
Sweet serendipity of time,
space and being.
Eternal.
Lost. Breathe in.
Out.
Inspiration for a lifetime of love.
And your soft sigh whispered
stop oh
stop.
Even universes end.
We never said goodbye.
Here we are. The fraying begins.
I feel the flutter of frail valves,
delicate whisper of electricity
as the connection
between heart and soul loosens. Oh.
Inarguable proof of the final doom.
If there is a chance to escape,
the body screams
'Run from
that mess
that horror,
the agony of the not-knowing.
Continue to
continue
to pray for one last chance.'
Yet, strangely, no fear, here.
It's a relief to surrender.
I function despite myself,
the puppets of pipes and wires,
so I stare at the ceiling and wait.
Nothing of me will resonate
when I am gone.
All ... this... will dissolve.
I am tired. Bored, even. I have lost it all
except the scent of gorse, sunshine,
the texture of wool on bare thighs
and a song without words.
You have a question to ask me,
but
stop,
oh
stop
not yet
Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Sadie Maskery
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