Don't cry Grandson.
Grandpa is not leaving yet.
Dear little boy, your mother
shared with me that you were
shedding tears on my behalf.
Somehow in that 4 year old mind
you feared I was going from you.
Stay strong, little man. Grandpa
is going to stay around as long
as possible. You and your brother
will have me for some time yet.
And even if Grandpa goes to heaven,
you must know I'll still be with you.
Cherishing every step you take in
your long life ahead. I'll be watching,
never doubt that. How could this
deep love I hold for you boys ever
go away? I know that you are young.
So many things can seem confusing.
Fears that are not understood still
can scare the hell out of you. I know
all about this, for I too was once
your age. Hard for you to believe
that Grandpa was once a boy!
Don't cry for me, darling Grandson.
I'm still kicking around. Though
I may not seem in the best of health,
my heart and mind are strong with
my love for you. Close your eyes,
touch your heart. That is where I am.

I.V. tubes and blood,
medicines and moaning.
The dying are all here, together.
A special enduring reunion
of the Cancer Centre gang.

When the priest visits,
we talk about God.
Acceptance, understanding.
These are our topics
of conversation.

What is there to understand?
A question I keep inside...
Father speaks to me in tones
of empathy and support.
He's a nice man. Good man.

Down the hall is crying,
loud and desperately lost.
People walk by my door,
visitors and staff, going
about their business.
We all, on this floor,
are filled with stories.
Lives we've lived and
lives we are leaving.

Outside my window,
I see the tops of trees.
Closing my eyes,
I imagine I am
sitting under them

Words bolt out but no ears hear,
Bending vowels of drained attention.

She smiles in racing blossom intervals,
the atmospheres of bending bludgeons.

But still I am in love with her, fool me.
He who talks without lips moving.

See the juvenile mouth extrapolating
to judgements faulting into aching.

I wonder, well sometimes I do think,
what fashionable jungle I'm to be?

After all, she finds life too busy
to wonder long about such as me.

Immobile with soundless ambition,
the rocks grow but not in splendour.

So this is how it must convert to action,
that she succeeds where I blunder.

Oh well, so that is how it will coexist,
with words drained and solitary existing.

"Be robust" I murmur to myself, with
heart closed and cognizance brooding.

"Goodbye, my former fellow traveller!".
I am off to request novel occupations.

You your way, and I, unhappily waving.
Exhalations the only sound which cheapens.