Twisted Fragments of Rememberance

A poem written as someone was enduring pain

As I languish upon twisted, sweat-soaked sheets
of my bed-turned-prison,
I marvel at the frailties of life.
To what end is this human "race" toward?
But to pain and suffering more'

Tho' the night be the longest yet,
my foggy thoughts race in a million.
Twas just a dream ago, I thought about heaven.

Now, as the clock ticks mercilessly,
signaling the demand for more
life conserving remedies,
and the daggers of pain stab unrelentless,
What shall be at the next turn of the bend?

The mind bids farewell
as it drifts off to find another world
My soul frees to be released
into the sanctity of nothingness

While my heart beats frantically
and my breath signals my existence
just a fragment of remembrance of a past life.

© Anthony G. Stowe (April 2000)