I know she cannot hear me now,
I know it makes no sense,
But it's so very hard to change,
From present, to past tense.
Her neurons cannot tell to mine,
That they have ceased to be,
That there'll be no further input,
No added memory.
But let me just pretend a while,
That she really can still hear,
That I can touch her smiling face,
Can feel her body near.
You may catch me talking to her,
You may hear me cry out loud,
You may see the tear stains on my cheek,
See me running from the crowd.
Yes, it is an open wound,
That's plain for all to see,
But don't try to disinfect it,
That swab won't set me free,
This pain is all I have now,
Don't take it from me yet,
Don't tell me time's a healer,
This pain I will forget.
I don't want your pure white bandage,
Don't make me beg, or plead.
Don't prescribe that 'magic potion'!
I don't want that quackery.
I'm sorry, have I offended?
Have I been insensitive?
Have I gone and hurt your feelings,
When all you did was 'give'?
But when a gift is thoughtless,
To what does it amount?
You may think it just a cliché,
But it IS the thought that counts.
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