The Physician
It was so late, and he so tired.
He knew it would not last, this peaceful calm.
He sat across from the bed and
Stared at the gentle face of the woman.
She would not see the morning come.
Or dance in fields of lilies white
Or kiss the morning dew at day's first light,
Or watch a flower unfold with
Wondering eyes. Lost in his thoughts, the
Scene now reflected in his mind.
What more could he do?
What more could he take?
Nothing more, no more,
Not now... too late.
The incessant remorse swallowing him...he sighed,
Driving him deeper to the self inside.
And yet half laughing, somehow...so tired.
Almost over now...How could he? How could he not?
Martyr and monster entwined in a single knot.
He ached to know...what else to say?
How could it be? There must be a price...
A price he must pay.
He was the scientist, the shaman, the counselor, the rock.
And each time, a piece of himself dissevered and gone, gone forever.
Line from a Joplin song playing over and over, he could not stop,
Take it, take it, take another little piece of my heart.
Break it, break it...he was not himself now, but a self apart.
Breaking his heart again and again....Oh God!
The blood coursing through his veins no longer belonged to him.
He was in pieces and each death past was a piece buried within.
So deep now...so deep and...forgotten? So, to this it has come.
The pain was not enough (or was it too much?) now he was numb.
Surreal visions clouded his mind...out of body...out of time.
Never enough, never enough...never a sign.
Was he not strong? Did he not offer his soul to all,
Give them his shoulder and his time and his steely calm?
The rock, the anchor...scientist, shaman, priest...Oh God!
He would not ask for help, no, never, never, not he.
He was the savior sought, no one must ever see.
He would swallow the pain, endure the rest and hold the
Beast and the beauty in his breast.
He was....he was...God's angel.
He must not veer.
He was...he was...unable....too much... the sorrow, remorse...the fear,
Beyond what any human soul could bear.
They could not hear his silent scream trapped behind the stoic jaw.
Dare not, dare not...touch me...oh, please, oh please not again!
The touch so raw...
He sat there, entranced, at the woman's face he gazed.
Stretched upon the rack of secret pain,
He was outside himself now...drifting, drifting slowly away.
Already gone inside and only a shell to walk slowly out the door.
And when the shimmering lights passed by, someone else was driving, not he.
No, his heart lay in that room...holding the life...shaman, doctor, priest.
Bathed in the warm blood of his still beating heart,
Mother, father...Oh, hear me now...from my watch, I will not part!
Yet, now walking slowly down the dark hall at home...alone... whose home?
Not he, not this man...he was...over, past...empty, unknown.
He would pierce the beating heart inside his hollow chest.
And the blood...warm blood...would flow out and down... and rest,
And pay the price, his soul confessed.
Never again, never again....shaman, doctor, priest.
He would sacrifice his own heart...Oh God...Oh God, please!
Shaman, priest..... ghost...emptying his heart, embracing his fall.
Now only the echo of his last cries ring in the hollow hall,
Where his body lay dying on the cold stone floor.
What else could he do to suffer no more?
"Forgive me"... it is through.
No more...no more
What else could he do?
What else could he do?
