Buried in the rubble deep
not quite dead, just asleep,
I find you lying there.

On a slab they call a bed,
wires protruding from your head,
with your empty stare.

You once laughed, you once cried
a part of your brain has died,
a vegetable they say.

Now your body's monitored,
now you utter not a word
all words have slipped away.

Buried in the rubble deep
I find a hope that I can keep,
tucked safely in my heart.

That once again your eyes will shine
as they see the teardrops fall from mine,
never again to part.