Questions of Rhetorical Insignificance

Its been some years since you last stood
by my bed,impatiently tapping your feet,
like a father waiting for their child to dress.

How long would you have waited?
did you kneel, and coax my my lungs to retire
and when the machine broke into thier bleep
did you slink like a shadow,
readying yourself in a corner of room?

Often I question you. Mostly at night,
when there is but hours of assured darkness
asking- "Is the soul still warm
When you pocket It like a just found penny?
Does the blood of a child Mowed down by a car
Ever seep through the wallOf your dreams?
What of their tiny little legs
In those shredded tiny jeans
that jut from the mangled frame of hissing metal
Do they ever flash before you
as you sit with your dinner alone?".

I wish not for you to reply just yet.
Save it for when agehas ravaged the mind
and time has withered my body.
when I am sitting in a chair
rocking to the soundtrack of my youth.
Reply gently
and enter me like a considerate lover,
taking my breath,
elevating me into the eternal,
as though
a hand scooping sand
from the bed of the sea.