I lay on the white sheets

I lay on the white sheets
My head pounding, fingers trembling
White coats all around me,
My blurry vision making sense of my surrounding

I slip in and out of unconsciousness
I am speaking, yet I am unheard
Death knocks on foggy glasses
They are counting breaths and collecting blood

I rest for a while, shut my tired eyes
I visit the field where sorrow and death reside
The ocean comes close to my feet
The ocean is Death, he doesn’t hide

The ocean holds hands with the sand
Arrives at my feet, but stays untouched
“The sand isn’t real”, the mountains echo
Death stays put, even he cannot be rushed

The disease vexes every part of me
My body tries to adjust to the white sheets
Death is shockingly patient
And I find my lost freedom in the field

With every breath my body takes,
Death quivers, ocean waves subside
I walk towards the ocean myself
But they only flow further back with every stride

The field starts to reduce in size
The sand disappears, atom by atom
The ocean continues flowing backwards
My feet take me back to where I came from

I lay on the white sheets
This time, my head is calm, my fingers steady
My battle with Death had ended
He didn’t take me, he knew I wasn’t ready

I still reminisce the field sometimes
A place where life and death choose to stay
Where the sand and the ocean never let go
Where lost freedom is found at Death’s gateway

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