The nightlight dimly shows the room; dark shadows on the wall.
He listens, but there is no sound; he speaks and tries to call.
No words come as he calls again. He tries to shout instead.
But no-one hears, for silence reigns, as he lies upon the bed.
He tries to move his hands and feet, but nothing can he feel.
No movement from his limbs at all. The moment so unreal.
He blinks his eyes, they open wide. Dark mist upon the air.
Intake of breathe and then he screams. Alas, there’s no-one there.
The darkness deepens like towering clouds, black cumulus, fill the room.
Fear grips him as he tries to breathe, within his final tomb.
Like a pillow pushed against his face, he gasps for air again,
His throat is dry, and empty lungs, his body rapt with pain.
It was only then he saw the light, inside the murky room
Growing brighter, as he’s drawn near, to fight against the gloom.
Then brighter still, and blinding, the room now filled with white,
His straining eyes, they cannot see, he falls towards the light.
He glides along the tunnel, white walls they fade away
To reveal long lost memories, from distant yesterdays.
Harvesters, tractors, wagons, haystacks, fields of wheat;
A young boy playing in a field, so nimble on his feet.
So long forgot, he sees his life; thoughts he did not know.
“It’s me,” he thinks as he watches on, memories from long ago.
And now the truth is with him, these scenes inside his head;
“I’m dying,” he whispers to himself, as he lies upon the bed.
Then calmer still, no pain at all, his life is ending here.
No goodbyes, his one regret, but no-one left to hear.
He knows the end is drawing near, the tunnel end in sight,
A warming glow as he falls again, towards the blinding light.
But then the deafening ring of bells, the angels’ welcome song.
Alarms ring around the corridors - something badly wrong.
A heart has stopped, no breath at all. A door slamming, open wide,
And nurses come and fill the room. This man should not have died!
And pressing down upon his chest, no seconds can they waste.
Air is forced inside his lungs, a mask upon his face.
No beat, no breath, the needle in. No time to hesitate;
And then a spark, a sudden breath. Machine defibrillate.
And then he’s back, a steady beat, still watched by a machine,
But back from where? He cannot say where he might have been?
The hours pass and then he wakes. He speaks of his strange dream
To an angel of the nursing kind and what it all might mean.
Life is, of course, a special gift; a gift that’s best to share.
My cup of life is full, my dear, because I know you’re there.