Category: Poetry by Phoebe

als waning poem phoebe chi

The Waning (ALS)

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You already knew.
Gaze unflinching, 
you told us to say the words.

Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis

A. L. S.

Despite sparse questions,
your eyes revealed
an understanding far deeper
than our answers-
that with one moment,
robbed were you
of the years ahead,
of memories awaiting,
of stories belonging to you.
Now lost.

Strength dissolving,
your conviction remains
unscathed.
You savor
each passing sunrise.
Each caress, each step.
For you know.
As your legs cease to support,
arms stop to comply,
you still feel
your child’s touch.
Absorbing her love.
Pretending
you don’t care the roles
have been reversed
as you yearn
to return her embrace.

As its hunger ascends,
You treasure
the remaining days.
Every word, every smile.
For you know.
Soon it
consumes your voice,
drains your visage,
until all that is left is
the silence
of a vacant mask.
Unable to reflect
your thought’s grin,
your heart’s laugh,
your soul tears
as you blink away the moisture.

As your breaths
increasingly betray you,
you are not defeated,
for the flames
of your bruised spirit
are not quenched,
and you give thanks
for the time you had,
even as your body dims
and you fade away.

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Embraced

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His heart unveiled before me,
descended from fields above,
let him free me with eternal songs
and constrain me with his love.

Lilacs amidst the autumn green,
like lilies among the thorns,
let him hold me up in blossom tides
in whose haven I am reborn.

If come the dawn which want of rain,
the hours of trial and drouth,
let him kiss me now as he kissed me then–
nectared kisses of his mouth.

When moistened rivulets meander down
my cheeks onto my neck,
let him dry the tears and calm my soul
with words of sweet caress.

As cashmere skies dissolve in mist
to lower eve’s curtain from above,
let them come; I fear it not–
for I am sick with love.

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A Search Within.

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How do I know
the pill won’t seem
bitter to your tongue
through your teeth?

How do I wear
a once white coat
stained with tears
of memories?

How do I compel
my pen to write
scripts to fight
a dimming light?

How do I know
 which waters will flow
to unearth the strength
within me?

How do I persuade
a heart to let go
when it’s my hand
that sets you free?

How do I ensure
my smile won’t be
one of the last
that you’ll see?

How do I force
my ears to hear
a song I fear
of dusk so near?

How do I know
which waters will come
to enshroud the doubts
within me?

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Assurance.

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Frosted stars
proclaimed by breeze,
a dance of farewell
before their queen.
Revealed by moon’s
glow in misted eyes
a wish reflected.
A longing…seeking
to be found.

Thread of secrets,
thrum of time,
silvered braids upon
wounded soul.
A queen
before her horizon
heeds the echoed promise
of a rising sun.
She smiles.

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Dawning.

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Snowflakes.
Fading upon blushed flesh,
its rivulets a frame
sketched for the captive soul.
Gaze glimmering, hope dissolving,
an echo to the void of twilight’s end.
She longs to be released.

A breath divine.
An oasis to a threadbare wish
sculpts bittersweetness
into frosted air.
Embraced by light,
she follows the seraph’s call
and is freed.

•

 

A Lunch with a Gift.

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I had lunch with a homeless man.

But not just any man. An elderly man, a former high school teacher…and a former patient of mine from a charity clinic where I used to work.

It happened as I was driving through downtown, stopped at a light beneath an overpass. Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. 

“Hi Doc!”

Since we were both hungry, we did the natural thing: we went for lunch at a nearby cafe. Despite intrigued glances from others, we had a lovely lunch. Looking back, it may have been one of the most enjoyable lunches I’ve ever had.

A few days later, I was contacted by the clinic who informed me that I had received a letter from a patient. And here I will share it with you—in a form put into verse by me but which maintains its original wording:

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Dear doc, you have been so kind to me.
Why, you even took me to lunch.
I wish I could give you something in return,
but I know I don’t have much.

So I write these simple words to you
in hope that on those days
that they’ll make you smile and give you strength
and peace in many ways.

You are a doctor to many,
but an angel you have been to me,
who encouraged, cared, and healed my pain,
and a light you made me see. 

I am sad that you are no longer my doc
but am glad that you are my friend.
And I hope we can keep in touch
until the very end. 

•

So why did I share this? Because I was “challenged” by Liz to give a gift to someone. But now I realize—I don’t think I succeeded in giving anything to anyone.

Rather, the gift was given to me. 

 

 

Tomorrow.

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Cheer that blossomed within our hearts,
stirred by your presence at each day’s start,
yearns to wilt when you depart.
But our song will sing again, tomorrow.

The smiles that pierced through saddened guise,
the rays which conquered thundered skies,
they ache to dim neath heaven’s cries.
But the sun will rise again, tomorrow.

For many years our lives you blessed,
but the hour has come for you to rest,
to soar upon hills on golden crest.
So have no fear, tomorrow.

For on that day, I know we shall meet again.

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Dedicated to Pam, in memory of Sammy ♥