Things Left Unsaid

Your eyes are dull,
they’ve lost their once brilliant light
clouded by confusion,
as if without sight.

I want to reach out,
I want you to know I care,
but will you feel my touch?
Will you even know I’m there?

I wish to speak words of encouragement,
words full of love in a language so plush.
Will you hear my voice, or shall my lexis be hushed?
Will my words be stifled by a disease so unkind?
A sickness that tears at the soul and ravages the mind. 

I must know if you are trapped inside fighting just to breathe
I refuse to believe that you are completely gone.
I need to believe that you still see me.
feel me.
hear me.
That your illness has only stolen your ability to respond.

When your time comes, when you take your last breath,
I will kiss your hand, say goodbye, and let you softly slip to death.

Sherry Burnham