Stigmata
08/12/09
He bled from his hands,
His legs,
His abdomen.
An emaciated face
Facing a world that can’t comprehend
why he suffers.
In the corner of his mind
The dust still rises
Again and again
As the laser knife
Rises and falls
Against
his tumor.
Time passes slowly
As the chemo cocktail
Drips into his veins.
All is a vain attempt
To stay the inevitable
end that will come.
Before the bleeding of his cancer,
Before this via dolarosa,
He was a strong, strapping man…
A firefighter.
But
one day of self-sacrifice
That stretched into weeks and months
Paid him back with this, these bloody wounds.
Now lying there in that hospital bed
A heap of bones with twisted limbs
Soon his life will turn to ashes
Like
the steel and dust of the Pit
Those many years ago.
Remember his stigmata,
They are his badge of courage,
His purple heart.
Given for service in a war
That
never will be won.
(c)2009 Leona M Seufert