Amputation of the Soul

for Paul Tek

Stuck here with the pouring anguish
of being unable to help;
unable to change anything
in that Fullyindented Past;

these are the Limbo Hours—
a Beautiful Child lay in a hospital bed
with a swollen brain
and body being fed by tubes;

the lowness of when tragedy triumphs;
many hearts ripped out; Spirit amputated for what
seems like eternity—let this child go
peacefully and painlessly away from us
to find that Next Plateau—
we will wait behind and keep him alive, with us,
in the Eternity of Magnanimous Memory;

yet what is Most Sick about this poem
is that I just came across it in my notebook
from three years ago and it is all happening again,
simply in a slightly different way—

I must watch another child die while shaking my fist at the fairytale Gods.
Once again I am consumed with Death in every direction I dare to glance.
I fear that this time it has come closer to me than any time before.
I can feel its ever-present existence as if it were only inches away,
as if I can feel its breath on the back of my very neck.