In Death's Hands

Chapped lips speak

when no one listens.

 

My hands grasp nothing,

and turn into fists as I fall.

 

They will die in their sleep,

Even with their eyes open.

 

They choose wishing wells and toss

coins to erase pain. They drink the

poison the well holds. No water!

No water!

 

Love can be a release. But a glass

that never stays empty, cannot

ease the pain.

 

So they get higher, and higher

while love becomes drier

and drier. For I turn away from all that burns

my eyes for those who do not see, and

I stop to listen for those who cannot hear

their own cries as they struggle to breathe.