I know I'm not helpless, but what can I do?
Who carries the weight? Who sees us through?
I talked to you there in your hospital bed: my love not a token; the spirit was fed.
You looked so lovely, younger in my eye; skin soft and smooth; unblemished; alive.
Stomach extended: broth for food.
Why fear for this life? It comes to an end..when comes the silence: but until then; my hope is his hands:
Love to a friend.
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Author:
Valiantstar (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 12th, 2026 09:05
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
My friend, I know the helplessness that can come beside a hospital bed…the feeling that love is both everything and somehow never enough at the same time. This poem captures that quiet ache with honesty and grace. I felt this deeply, Valiantstar. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
This seems a poem of saying goodbye. Tender and soft.
Not gone yet, but it doesn't look good.
We all go sooner or latter
Yep, O death, where is your sting?
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