MY COMA, MY WORLD
The news of my demise is premature, but I cannot refute it.
The machine I occupy knows the date and time, but not I.
The radio may speak, sing and dance, but I pay no heed.
My Facebook page is a lasting memorial I cannot see.
I am still sixteen and unformed, but old as a Pharaoh,
And like them, I lie hidden away for an age.
In this place there is no darkness, but my eyes are closed.
There is a chink in my doom, but no light penetrates.
The game is a plan filled with waiting, hope and stillness.
Those that love me are holding me close, far scattered as they are.
Those I love are hovering around me, and though I am so heavy in them,
They reside as bubbles that float and bump above my bed.
The clock on the wall, watching, makes no comment.
My months are rolls of the Moon, yet the Earth is still.
Medicine may be my true friend, but not just yet.
As I lie here on this threshold, in sight of the Light, live on for me.
Take each day you are granted, with me inside you,
And let my love play in the sunlit fields of your mind.