No signs of suffering could be seen
Except the silence tied up with the spotless walls.

The cubicle looked void of all memories,
Glass doors seemed to have shut out all.
The lonely medicated air was never willing
To recall anything worth-remembering.

He was there lying on a series of devices,
Seeming to live on the edge of life,
No face was enough to wake him up,
No sighs to deal with his eyes.

Let us wait downstairs with lost prayers all,
When nothing can be done, we can wait for the call.