NDE
It’s curious how the sunlight seems brighter,
the nighttime colder,
as I glimpse things unseen before.
Colors are richer, tastes are more intense.
Smells overwhelm,
and I’m trapped in between.
The cradles of my past are long behind.
The grave now calls
from a future just beyond my reach.
The days of youth have slipped into the void,
guiding me toward the night.
The pains in my chest dig deeper.
Breath rattles in the high humidity.
Every ache, every joint pain,
a reminder of life’s wonders and horrors.
My mind sees a glow around everything,
an afterimage burned into my eyes,
a constant reminder of my fragility,
a memoir of the night I nearly died.
I hold everyone closer, cherishing each moment,
though fear grips me each night,
afraid the reaper might still remember
and could be lurking nearby.
Close calls and ice cream,
sunsets and nightmares,
all treasured in the same place.
Waking to beeping with burns on my chest,
staring death in the face.
What good are retirement accounts at thirty-nine
when I’ve had my first heart attack,
lying in bed under bright lights,
dreaming of days lost forever?
Wishing, hoping, crying inside
without strength to shed a tear.
Feeling every heartbeat struggle,
drowning within my own body.
I wish I’d known then what I know now.
Spent my time basking in the sun
instead of planning for comfort.
I should have lived for joy.
Now my heart beats irregularly,
circulation faltered, liquid filling my lungs.
No resolution, no turning back.
Only memories of what could have been.
All the kisses I never shared.
The harsh words I spoke.
Every discomfort I caused.
Every time I walked away.
The spring flowers, the child’s cry,
the taste of cigarette smoke.
Every wasted night
lying restless, stressing over money.
Every smile, each tear,
moments spent in vain.
The joy I gave to some.
The pain I caused to others.
It’s all just a fleeting moment,
a snapshot of what I called my life,
replayed in my mind endlessly
since I survived that night.
They, always they.
Never a person.
Tell me I need to cope.
Recovery is part healing, mostly hope.
But they’ve never been lost in that moment
where you truly believe you will die.
You never recover, never forget.
You just hope for another chance.
To see how bright the sunlight is,
how cold the nighttime feels,
to taste the richness of spring
and understand what it all means.
The cradle rocks, babies cry,
a song only they know,
while the grave waits.
It’s not yet my time.
Another day rises, another breath
enters the damaged shell of my chest.
I must make these moments count,
create something from nothing, before I rest.
The pain in my chest is a constant reminder,
a nightmare before the dream.
It may be hours or years, minutes or decades,
but I feel it all coming for me.
Every heartbeat recalls that night
when everything disappeared,
and waking from sleep showed me
why I can no longer live in fear.
The reaper will find me when my time comes,
but that moment hasn’t arrived yet.
One more chance has been given to me
to live a life free from fear, nightmares, and regret.
It’s curious how the sunlight seems brighter,
the nighttime colder,
as I glimpse things unseen before.
Colors are richer, tastes are more intense.
Smells overwhelm,
and I’m trapped in between.
The cradles of my past are long behind.
The grave now calls
from a future just beyond my reach.
The days of youth have slipped into the void,
guiding me toward the night.