The ever constant beep that seems to have no cease,
disturbs a man of his rest in his sterile sheets,
blood shot eyes with no remorse stare at cemented walls,
white on white and into the night, the beep continues down the halls,
but the beep is now apart of him, the two, one in the same,
and always seems to copy him, as if it were a game,
some days the beep grows dominant,
some days the beep grows bleak,
some days the man grows confident,
some days the man grows weak,
this neverending droning pattern has become a normality in his life,
for with every single beep that beeps, he is reminded to still be alive,
this beep is now borderline obsession, his reality in a blur,
as if he sees the world through a light that is now obscurred,
those with religious mindsets, warn him to keep his faith,
while his food comes cold, and his food comes old, each night on his dinner plate,
but as a patient he has grown patient,
each day, a new perscription,
and with each pill he swallows at will,
that beep blares, as a soundtrack to his existence,
time has passed and friends have massed to the memories of their fallen friend,
and the beep that disturbed the man from his rest in sterile sheets has finally met its end.
Stephen Mateus
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-man-and-the-beep/
