Poem: The Rhythm of Life

In the tiny corridor,

Sat a frail old woman,

With her eyes open wide,

But seeing none.

 

Vacant empty eyes,

Filled with tears and prayer,

For her daughter and her child,

And sins that required repair.

 

Not so long ago,

She had been pacing on the same floor,

When Paul’s poor heart,

Could take no more.

 

And here she was again,

A hapless victim of fate’s games,

“Why me?” she asked

Her faith going up in flames.

 

But still, she held on,

To the hope of survival,

For she wanted to see her grandson,

On his earthly arrival.

 

It had been less than six months,

Since Carrie had announced it,

But her health had turned for the worse,

Making her ill and unfit.

 

She thought about the baby,

Whose life hadn’t even begun,

When the nurse suddenly called her,

To ‘listen’ to her grandson.

 

The room reverberated,

With a steady, quick meter,

The legendary rhythm of life,

The heart of little Peter.

 

Carrie looked at her mother,

A woman made of steel,

They both smiled and cried,

Silent tears of love nonpareil.

 

Grandma now looked at the black screen,

Filled with the green zigzags of his being,

Relief flooded her heart,

Which was liberating.

 

A straight line nearly a year ago,

And a heart was taken,

A crooked line now,

And a heart was given.

Heart rate
Picture Credit: Alienexpress.com

Daily Post Prompt: Percussive

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