Carson Haller
The scent of young blood, spilt by a gun.
This summer’s been hot, so I curse at the sun.
His eyes give a flutter; he almost comes to.
Now he’s there, but not really, and there’s nothing to do.
Sweating, I awake. Oh, torturous dream.
When I close my eyes, I can still hear him scream.
Though I’m not one to grieve, he’s never quite left me.
I’m tasked to see death, yet to lend hands—a blessing.
The weight of a life is so much to hold.
I’m stuck grieving that child with no chance to grow old.
A boy had his future ripped right from his chest.
I wish he’d forgive me. Then maybe I’d rest.
When I met that boy, we shared bated breath.
Both doctor and patient defeated by death.
His destiny ripe, never to reap.
Save a minute or two before I can sleep.