Some fear their final breath.

I have fought

With the absence of thought

Were I reached for words

And repeated “thank you” again and again.

 

There was no pain

Of the physical kind.

Just the mind

Closing down

And a lopsided walk.

 

When I cried

It was not at the fear

Of dying.

I can face my final breath.

No! I shed my tears

For the collapse of my mind.

 

I found in me

No poetry of mine

But grasped at others rhymes

To keep my inflamed brain

Alive.

 

I survived.

My brain abscess is no more.

I pour out poetry.

For I am not yet dry.

 

 

One day I will die.

 

 

I have no great dread

Of being dead.

What I fear

Is living death

Were breaths are taken

But the mind is dying

Or dead.