Playing Death

A single minded person, with nothing much to mind
Not a thought in the world, when there's nothing else to find
Curiosity can hit, but for the person - a simple poke
Intensity cautions others, for he had never spoke

Like a baby, they had said
Blankets up to his head
Words gently spread to his ears
They never knew he could hear

Intelligent people, thinking he was alone
All in the room, people looking like clones
With white lab coats and glove smothered hands
Only sound allowed was the wind from the fans

A sweat drop fell, dropping on his face
So porcelain, so clean, unmoving grace
And with a gasp, the nurse screamed
"He's not alive! How can that be!"

Whispers gathered as he began to move
His movement, strangely delicate and smooth
For being so long kept in that bed
Had made every word stay in his head

So single minded people have not much to mind
Only precaution is what they can find
He did not die but his heart-rate began falling to the depths
But none to worry, family, he just pretended his death!

Poem by The Narrator

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