Flatliner

The green line makes
Mountains on the monitor
And that steady
Beeping
Pulses a lullaby.
I grasp your hand like
An anchor.
Although I know your
Wings ache to
Spread
Beneath dusty sheets.
I suppose I’m
Selfish really. You said
I shouldn’t light
Any candles
For you. I feel the guilt
Burning me;
My hope is a blossoming
Flame in a lonely
Chapel.
Still I pray that
Somehow my voice is
Getting through.
Even though part of me knows
It’s just white noise.
Suddenly
I’m left
Screaming
With the
Monitor.
The
Machines
Begin their
Elegy as
The emerald
Line races
Into Oblivion.