Stop.
The muscle twinges,
the veins expand as the scalpel cuts
while the surgeon is in control.
With each incision he fixes trauma.
Clanking rattles the dream of the patient,
unaware of the god in command.
She’d worship if aware of the intricate
design
made with precision by the tools of this
medical master.
Anesthesia has now set in.
But what of the seizer thrown toward him.
Craniotomy is now in motion,
latex snaps and the skull now cracks,
matter of grey exposed to the world,
but the surgeon takes care-the patient is
saved.
No good can stop what is inevitable,
no god can save the end time.
The heart is done when the heart is done.
This is death.
No comments:
Post a Comment