Last Breath

And suddenly,
at the end,
life is measured, not in time,
but in breaths,
each one a measure of life
about to cease.

About this poem

I spent yesterday at the deathbed of a parishioner, a dear lady with a dear family that I am close to.  It brought to mind my own parent’s death just a few short years ago, how time stops, the world stops, and everything hinges on the next breath, and the next, until there is no more.

Sad? Of course. But also an affirmation of how precious life is.

Tom