Kinda

It's not a death sentence  
just a notice  
from masked faces looking down at you  
inside sterile walls  
with the scents  
the hum of fluorescent lights  
and a bed you will give your last dream to  
pray in  
last pillow that will hide your tears  
It's a notice of nothing's left  
times up  
hopelessness can consume  
but for one moment  
that realization of those same walls  
Same lights  
that scent  
those masks will hold a hand  
bring in new life  
tell a mother her child will go on dreaming  
kinda makes it okay  
Kinda