by Lori Kubik

Confined to a bed.
Heart beating strong.
Love for family,
for home,
for God
Life full of pride,
and anger,
and wisdom,
Dying inside.
for the next meal,
the next visitor,
the next breath.
Not what she wanted.
Not home.
Not really her.
Her life fills my mind.
Her heart fills my soul.
Her spirit beats on
and on,
and on,
and on.
More than a fortune.
She isn't a poem.
She wasn't a flower.
She is a raging river,
pulsing in my veins.

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