The ending

“Seventy-fold times seven,” says he whose heart is filled With raging violent passion For those of us strong-willed There is easy pain in breathing and sorrow on our lips we tempt the taunting blade with calloused fingertips A broken record lulls its quiet broken tune floating out the door of the silent Dying Room He is floating in a sea Of medical machine He draws another breath Here the closing scene A vacant crowd is standing about the silver bed they glance into his pockets ignoring what he said They are waiting, only waiting For the ceasing of his breath They are fighting, always fighting For the moment of his death