She makes me feel like superman, so why should I fear.
I am on-duty to protect her, love her and care for her
My only kryptonite are her tears.
She says "you're silly", "overprotective" and "nhnhnhnhnh"

I treat her like my Cleopatra, what she says goes
Will I soon fade out like her past affairs.
She worries too much, she shouts at me, oh how she woes
What else to do but listen, I mean I do truly care.

She asks me; "Do I look fat", I didn't hesitate to give my honesty
You're beautiful everyday, I love everything about you.
She calls me a liar, she starves herself to satisfy others constantly
I say to her that I want to lay with you.

What am I. Your friend, your boyfriend  your fiancee or husband
You say I'm crazy and tell me you love me, but am I enough.
We visit twice a month, yet we are both in London.
Am I a person who you met just for a bluff

Into the death room I was led.

Where nature's last sparks of electricity
pulse through a familiar body,
barely stimulating a heart to pump blood
through frail and ag'ed  mottled skin.

Where light behind once azure eyes
slowly dim to opaque blue.
Eyes open, but not seeing,
ears hearing, but unable to respond.

Dentureless mouth agape,
taking almost mechanical shallow bursts of breath
in marionette fashion,
as if strings pulling bony shoulders sharply up and slowly down
were methodically, dramatically, skillfully manipulated
by a hand unseen.

Sunken face reveals the hidden shape of the skull within.
Smooth, silky flesh
stretched o're an unfamiliar, emotionless, flicking gaze.

No incoherent moaning today,
no unconscious slowly floating arms,
nor grasping of my fingers to let me know
.....I am still here.

The light switch is being turned off.

In the death room the dash between ones all important dates is born. Mary Elizabeth Fields Goodwin .......Born 7/31/18 - Died 9/17/16
…...like a babe, the dash is delivered.

Was it a full life, this dash?
Was it meaningful?
Was it loving, giving, humble?
Did this one get to do all that it wanted?
Did it finally arrive at where it had hoped it would be?

Or was it filled with regret and remorse,
or hatred, pain and sorrow?
The death room puts it all into perspective.

It was a life.....
It was a life lived.......that is all.
Nothing can be added or taken away.
Nothing was ever missing, broken, or damaged.

Who would dispute this in the death room with its finality?
Its silence,
its soul-less body that had never been perfectly still in over 98 years?  

This life that lived exactly the amount of time that it lived.
A leaf in Autumn, spiraling slowly to the ground,
with no parade, no fireworks, no angelic chorus,
just a husband of 79 years, a daughter, a son.......

Draw near and say your goodbyes now......
the death room is almost here....

It's all right Mom, it's alright to go now...... We'll be Okay.......
A stroke of the brow,
a last breath.......

Let go of a lifeless hand.......... and the death room is born.


*This poem is for all of you poets who have encouraged me to keep on writing. You know who you are.