Long Live the Pope
LIVE:
The doctors who treated the Pope
have died.
Their stethoscopes silenced.
Their hands—
once steady, once sterile—
lowered into the earth.
They gave him breath,
they gave him time,
but time gave them nothing back.
And still—
the Pope lives.
In whispers,
in glass windows,
in the Vatican's perfect hush.
His robes folded by angels.
His name etched in gold.
And when the doctors reached the gates—
Saint Peter didn’t blink.
Didn’t open.
Didn’t ask their names.
He said:
“You saved him once.”
“But you didn’t believe.”
“This door doesn’t open
for hands that served
without kneeling.”
And so they stood—
outside heaven,
watching incense rise
without them.
Long live the Pope.
But not the ones
who kept him breathing.