Sherri Lupton Hollister

Death waits for her

I see her laying there, the pain intense upon her pale face. The blue veins of her eyelids look bruised as her eyes flutter with agitation. She groans in her sleep, restless and exhausted. Death plays her cruel joke teasing and taunting, it threatens to take her only to leave her in pain. What is worse to pray for death yet linger or fear it and be taken with it’s swift sword. Death waits for her, hovering just out of reach. Death waits for her.

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