How Many Chest Compressions Poem by Mark Heathcote

How many chest compressions,
How many chest compressions
Will it take to awaken me again?
Death is a flower pressing I've longed for.
Days framed with love are dried tenderly
Some keep their colours eternal
Others increase beyond all measure.
And a few need discarding
They are like concreted windows.
But it would take too much effort and dignity.
Too much effort and dignity to break,
Break down these mortared stones.
I could die for these oval, hard stones
I could die for the tulips closing, the black tulips
I grow each year how they humbly sleep in rest.
Watch now how each petal falls, how it tightly clings
How many chest compressions,
How many chest compressions
Will it take to awaken them again?
But this isn't a flower that can be dried or pressed.
At times, concreted windows are all we have at best.