What I’m Not

I am not a terminally ill patient
gasping for my last breath
on the respirator
I am not an empty shell
or a cadaver
I once thought I was dead
but I heard my savior whispering, “You’re asleep”
and I was caught
in the ink black hole night
my surrounding were immaterial
no sensations
and I remembered
that we were in the garden
and you formed me with your fingertips
and breathed life into hemoglobin
telling me to get up
“Get up”
“Stand up”
My tears were shed
and windsheild wiped

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