Gathering Leaves - Paul Armfield

Words on the tip of finger
Spread across medium-sliced lines
Sentences hover and linger
Freed from the reason that binds
Gathering leaves, scattering seeds
Hoping that you will find
The flowers that punctuate freedom
The seconds that syncopate time
To the scream
Of a life-support failing
Comes the beat
Of a hand on a heart
And the piercing
Shrill of death wailing
Comes to a halt with a start
There on the screen
Who'd have believed
Life could imitate art
But I swear it's your
Handwriting in red neon
There on the life-support chart
The blinds that are closed
Against morning
Glow like the lines on a page
Postponing eventual dawning
Of the sun in a violent rage
Touching the blind
Disturbing lines
Hoping that you will find
The flowers that punctuate freedom
The seconds that syncopate time