Cardiac Arrest

The Colonel marched to ninety two.
Could my heart ever prove that strong?
Could it beat a path from the back of beyond
to the frontier, where a gong...
in an echoing tone, would summons
you to sit down at my table?
Would you come to my last supper,
to sing a dirge if you were able?

The Captain sailed to ninety four.
Can my heart float that long?
Or, will it break like tectonic plates
on these shifts from right to wrong?
Will the seismic waves of passion
forever swell to floods of tears?
Will you keep burying me in oceans,
flying half a mast of grief?

The Judge ruled on to ninety six.
Does my heart look like a conn?
If he could give me one sentence
would he say, "hang her at dawn"?
If my life were a one day punishment
and your gavel ruled my chest,
is this seven o'clock in the evening
of my cardiac arrest?

(A poem from the archives of Hazy Dizzylady)