Lyme

Paisley floats in red violet fog

The haze will dim with rain

The clock is louder than before

Smells are stronger, days are longer

He longs for sleep-an endless sleep

That lasts until this nightmare ends

When he wakes, he feels much better

At least, for two priceless hours

My friend has felt such pain these days

But quit complaining months ago

Complying now with fate's sharp blows

Hanging on to fleeting hope

Fighting because we want him back

Our bottomless pit of love for him

Holds on and begs for his strength

To mend his tired body

Confused mind-still sharp but asking, "Why?" The scientist at work again

"How" to help the ones like him-ignored, weak, pushed aside for the sake of greed

The saint I love will find a way

He always does-he's good that way.

Rest in peace, my friend.