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!
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.