His eyes grew dim.
The life was gone,
Unlike the day before.
Unplugged the machine,
That allowed him to breathe.
The pain that was felt,
Was not all mine,
For my Mother was
Here by my side.
Keep talking to him,
The Doctor had said,
"For the sense of hearing
Is the last sense to go".
Why do I remember,
My feelings of dread,
When thinking about
The passing of my Dad?
In the ICU room
In a hospital bed,
In Yakima Washington?

The randomness of words,
lay on my plate.
Too many words may come
and they will suffocate.
The thoughts that are now
running through my head,
wishing they were happy,
but No; fearful instead
The words have become hateful;
not what they should be,
for I care for my own
and for strangers too,
as life has given pause
of what one can do.
A scary situation. It's been hard,
for if you are not diligent
and let your down your guard
you could be the victim
of Co-vid nineteen.

I do not like
the words that I write,
for some are cruel
and others quite trite.
Has the hate of one person
ruined my one good trait,
or must I rethink the words
and I can write and wait?

I pray to the heavens.
I utter no sound,
For my prayer in
Words, cannot be found.
I pray for the souls
Of those struck down,
By the virus, Pro-vid 19;
One of the words pandemic
The World has ever seen.
What do we do?
Where do we stand
When it has been months
And there still is no Plan.
No plan from the current regime,
Who doesn't care one little ounce,
But looks only at the Stock market bounce.
A terrible choice, at least to me
As the decisions made, lives in infamy.