38.3

Temperature rising..rising…
My own spirit plummeting…plummeting…
down to the deepest recesses
of the unknown…what I fear the most …

But it will end,
the nightlong vigil,
the holding on to his tiny hand,
the quivering of my own flesh,
the sweat from the humid room,
all warm from his fever…

It will end,
his agony…all my own…

Tomorrow, he will be up again,
celebrate his childhood —
forbidden just yet.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s