In lungs where breath once flowed so free, Now struggle in their silent plea, A storm of fire, inflamed, distressed, The airways choke, the heart oppressed.
A flood invades the sacred space, Where life’s exchange had set its pace, In tiny sacs where breath should meet, Now drowns in liquid, cold and sweet.
From injuries unseen, it starts, Infections deep, or broken parts, A trauma, sepsis, toxic air, All lead to this, the lungs’ despair.
With every gasp, the body fights, As oxygen eludes its sights, Cyanosis paints the skin so pale, And every breath begins to fail.
Machines now breathe where lungs cannot, With tubes and wires, hope is sought, Yet still the risk of fate so grim, As life teeters on the rim.
But in the dark, the light is found, In care and love, the heart is bound, For though the lungs may scream and cry, The spirit fights, it will not die.
With time, some heal, some rise again, While others bear a lasting pain, For ARDS, with its cruel hand, Leaves marks that few can understand.
Yet in the fight, we see the light, The will to live, the endless fight, And though the road is long and steep, Hope whispers in the deep, deep sleep.
