There is a certain beep to the machines
within a hospital that will never change
it goes on and on, reminding one of life
while also holding onto the idea of death.

There is nothing we can do sometimes and 
that hurts deep within because there are 
people for whom we care more about than 
ourselves, and we need need them to be okay.

There is not a fix for skin and bones, for laying 
in bed watching day after day despite the odds
because one can only be there to hold their hand
to let them know that we are there, and we love them.

There has to be that human connection, that knowledge
that they are not alone, that we will drop everything
and anything to be there in a heartbeat, amongst the
beeping and beds and tears and the love and the hope.