The Last Train (Sonnet)

We wait at the station, Mother and I,
one final stop for her – painless she prays;
I busied at bedside – prolonged goodbye –
memories and regrets filling our days.

“We live too long,” she wearily proclaims
“Why must suffering linger till the end?”
I plea and bargain, call angelic names,
yet the will to survive refuses to bend.

The urgency builds as my time dwindles;
must I leave her in this compromised state?
She rallies and stands on wobbly spindles
dismisses fears – has accepted her fate.

Some destinations are clearly defined –
Death is a train whose schedule’s unkind.

(The Last Train first appeared January 2019. Image my own)

Published by

VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

49 thoughts on “The Last Train (Sonnet)”

  15. This is a very powerful poem; I was holding my breath as I listened to you read it. This line in particular resonates very strongly with me: “yet the will to survive refuses to bend.” The accompanying image is haunting.

    Liked by 2 people

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    1. Thanks Liz. When I wrote it, it looked like the end for my mom, but she has lived on to 96. Now, though, she is making the choice to end her life through medical assistance. The words become even more poignant. I am so proud of her courage and clear-sighted direction.

      Liked by 1 person

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  21. Poetry has the power to move one’s soul. I just experienced it in this emotive piece. I am indebted to you for making me feel emotions I thought never existed or I have successfully suppressed. I am the primary care giver of my octogenarian mother. I am not sure who is taking care of whom. I am terrified of what will eventually be, yet when I see her aches and pains I wonder if I am not being selfish in hoping that what is to be never is.

    Liked by 3 people

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