An Ode for a Friend: A Poem

 I cried again for you today.

But, here and now-- this hour,

I write for you a happy tune

So it may be like flowers.

To bring 'round joy and happiness--

Perhaps to bring a smile.

So, I may feel as I once did

With you for just a while.

They say that grief is simply love

With no one here to claim it.

But, if I could, I know I would

-- The time, the place -- you name it.

Silly me. I know you can't.

I hope you're somewhere nice.

For all the things I can imagine

--Nothing after life.

I hope there is-- oh God do I!

But, just so I am clear,

There's not a single life or death

That I'd not find you, Dear.

If you're somewhere waiting for us,

Please, save me a spot.

Until then, I'll sing my grief.

My Friend, you're not forgot.

The Surgeon: A Poem

 Surgery, sans anesthetic

Is--

Painful for all.

The Patient, of course.

The Surgeon--

Proxy to the hell.

But-- I was that who lay

Bare on the table, as you

Cut and snipped and sawed

me into pieces

To fix me

And call me the one

Who was living

Because-- you -- saved me

You did what you

Were trained to do.

I trusted the credentials.

--The skill, the touch--

But--I wasn't sick!

Or broken!

Or failing

--When you examined.

The illness--

Was only the myth

That I-- needed

To be better.

You studied this body

And mind and heart.

Though flawed, were fine.

Yet, you found unwell.

So, I let you open me--

And, while you felt the pang

Of seeing me writhe--

Hollowed on.

And, when I

Bled out--

You sighed,

'At least we tried.'

And I--

Had given my life.