Posted in Poetry

The Impassioned Plea

Don’t die mom,
please don’t die.
I watched my little brother
who less than three months ago
said goodbye to his dad
and now this next blow.

He bent right before her
as she sat in that wheelchair
and fixed his eyes upon her face
intently holding the stare,
as if my some way of fate
his gaze would keep her fixed
I could hardly keep my breath by
and I thought this might be it.

But his plea was noninvasive
even more as it he whispered
with tears in his eyes
hands resting on mom’s thighs
it was all I could do
to keep myself from crying.

By now he had gotten hysterical
as he felt hope slipping away
I did my best to stay on top of things
I couldn’t display dismal dismay.
As I rubbed mom’s back
I rubbed bro’s back
both of them trying to calm
reassuring him in my most soothing voice
that God meant mom no harm.

But he just repeated those said three words
“Don’t die mom”, it seems, all she heard.
And though we had to rush her
from private doctor to the hospital
visiting her for what seemed like endless days
she pulled right through
the imprisoned sickness of a maze
and is alive to tell the story
and celebrate her birthday this May.



A creative nut with endless possibilities to offer the world. Just need to start with one possibility - my words.

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