THE CARE TAKER'S HEART!

 

I am weary of corridors washed in white,

of beeping lights that mock the night.

The air smells sharp, of steel and sorrow—

I wake today, and dread tomorrow.

I love him still, with all I am,

yet love now aches like an old, tired psalm.

My hands have learned the healer’s art,

while no one tends my own faint heart.

I too am patient—silent, unseen,

fragile beneath a practiced sheen.

The weight I bear has softened bone,

I cradle all, yet stand alone.

At times, I dream of running far,

beyond the reach of pain and scar,

where quiet hills and kind winds live,

and I have nothing left to give.

But then—two faces, soft and small,

their laughter echoes through it all.

For them, I stay; for love, I mend,

though tired—still, I will not end.

So let the world, if it can, take heed:

the ones who heal, they too must bleed.

And in my weary, beating part,

still burns the boundless caretaker’s heart.