Last Chance

Shall a priest be brought,
Or will you chance this end alone?

He watched through misty eyes
The gathering of his flock.
There was the young girl,
Who showed so much promise,
Now spent on coke.

His doctor son,
Marked as a murderer
By those, whose fetal fetish
Would not permit the ending of one cell.

There his partner stood,
Comforting his wife of thirty odd years.
He knew they were lovers.
No one knew but he.
What a spectacle he could have made
Of this final feast.

Outside his room
The table was loaded
With the sweet tastes of favorite foods.
He could not partake.
The tubes ran into his nose,
And up his arm,
Life juices in saline.

God has to give him the benefit of the doubt.
He had not been a bad man.
Rather, he was what you would call,
A nothing man.

Sure he had been successful.
He had made money.
The secret is not in the making,
But rather in the knowing how to use it.

What would they all do with
His small fortune after he was gone?

Who the hell cares really.

No use fighting it.
Here I come Lord.
My one last chance.