Imprisoned

He is a prisoner, held fast
in a dim, dark recess of his mind.
His body has failed,
holds him prisoner to
its sudden collapse. Post
open-heart surgery, doctors
induced a prolonged coma.

Thus is he threefold a prisoner
unable to convey the thoughts
his brain processes into an
awareness of his pathetic
life-clinging stubbornness.
He is aware, through the fog
of pain, anguish and drugs.

Alive, but barely; vital signs
diminishing, day by crushing day.
He is on what is politely termed
life-support. Machines ventilating,
breathing for him, beating his heart
to a steady pace, cleansing his kidneys,
tubes infusing him with saline, insulin.

He hears, through that all-enveloping
fog, the distant murmur of familiar voices.
Wife, son; near mute with the passion
of their loss, their grief raising his blood
pressure, alarming the doctors,
puzzled, uncertain of his clinical state
his catastrophic collapse.

For the operation, severe, but routine
was a textbook success.