Wayward Wind - Belinda Subraman  

My patient, Paul, wrote in a poem that he belongs to the wayward wind, a restless breed, a strange and hardy class. I’ve been with him for two years and now he is dying. “Are you in pain, Paul?” I ask. “I AM pain,” he said. But he is refusing medication although his cancer has spread from his kidneys to his lungs, brain and bones. Somehow bearing this pain to the grave is his last act of defiance bravery/repentance. My hands are tied. My job now is to protect his choice and later as promised to collect his ashes, read his poems in my garden then set him free in the wind where he belongs. 💥💥

By Peace Truth

Life is like a bunch of roses. Some sparkle like raindrops. Some fade when there's no sun. Some just fade away in time. Some dance in many colors. Some drop with hanging wings. Some make you fall in love. The beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Life you can be sure of, you will not get out ALIVE.(sorry about that)