Dark hour

Awaiting the dark hour
White linen envelopes
a life flickering weakly.
A shallow breath of hope
hanging onto all hope.

Spotlights reflecting
away from the subject,
for the intrusive glare
highlights the fragile form.

The cards of good wishes
stand like paper soldiers;
their messages forgotten
in a past consciousness.

No prayer or poem is fitting
as this soul has no belief
in divine intervention or
spiritual stairway to healing

For time has no relevance,
as routine is abandoned
for peace and comfort.
Till the dark hour comes.

JaxU 01/15