Two hearts, for which my heart beats
Are safe within a locked ward. Resting,
behind swaying curtains, tended by torch-bearing nurses.
I drift along empty corridors.
Outside, a deep pre-dawn stillness reigns.
The air hangs damp, yet somehow less cloying than
those stifling bays, with the parent’s room saturated in tears.
Every car sound echoes in the stillness, as I
Glide back to an empty house, not a home without them.
A mantra in my heart, pulsing like a heartbeat:
Ward opens at Seven.
Copyright Tom Tide 2017