Zywa In past and impossible

After others I see myself
dying between these walls
whirling through the day

like a butterfly, too fragile
to be able to enjoy
what life is offering

I still have my wings
In the brighter colours
of midazolam and morphine

that distort the world
past and impossible
are melted

into heaven and fear
of pain that I do not feel
until I wake up frightened

from the emergency cries
of my broken body
that calls for redemption

Poem 2040
Amsterdam, 2019-01-20

Palliative sedation
Collection: The light of words 
Keyword: Death: dying 
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