Not everything I write about is funny
Quite often I write about death,
As a Critical-Care Nurse, I was present
When Billy Bob took his last breath.........
And here I am editing
Words and experiences
Written way back in '95,
A shadow of PTSD
Reawakens, and I am alive,
In the moment of back then
When the night was so long
And the Reaper, was the winner that round,
Why do our memories
Work quite this way
Is this a gem or a bear-trap I've found?
Who was there, I don't know
Just good nurses as usual, per the case,
I remember the Cardiology Fellow; by name
I saw him at a seminar, and recognized his face,
And we worked our butts off, on this man from Stockton
Already in heart-shock before he would arrive,
Were we foolish to think, that our great solutions
Were the magic to keep him alive?
Memories can be monsters
In the complexity of our brain, they don't erase,
Working on the front-lines of life and death
It is something that we all have to face.