Catalepsy State

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Imagine that you do not die but lie

In trance, one unimagined by your mind

And eons pass and, still, you hear them cry

Beside your deathbed.  They remain as blind

As you were in your life.  You hear them say

They love you as you fold up in that trance

And find you can’t reply.  You want to bray,

“You should have said that, shunning every chance

To do the love I needed.  Now when brain

Is disappearing in Christ’s coma, you

Find words withheld.  I do not hear you stain

Your lips with, ‘Sorry.’ ”  Spirit goes askew.

  It paralyzes in this daze, detached

    But suffering, still, like casket lilies, latched.

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