I'm chained to this wall,
A belt round my neck,
Tongue tied, cannot call,
My heart's a ship wreck,
Sunken to the soul,
Where no light enters,
Just like this hell hole,
Where insanity centres,
Losing their patience,
With nurses incapable,
Of treating our minds,
The pain in our veins,
Or pain they can't find,
"Hopeless" they claim,
But in this darkness,
Fear is controlling,
Just like the madness,
Existing in the nursing,
And pain turns to death,
As rain turns to tears,
While they take their last breath,
For screams that last years
You are blessed with a mouth to speak,
but it takes patients to be perfect,
patient is the key no need to rush though.
You are blessed with 2 legs and 2 arms.
So why let fear run your life?
Why don't you just switch that over and run fear and accomplish things in life,
let fear, fear you. just do it!
Dutifully watching willows sway
Birds are lounging just beneath the overhang
Rain is gently pouring down the window pane
I sit hear raggedly alternating my vision
From you to it
It to you.
I don't know if you are conscious
I really hope you can hear me.
I stopped using words days ago
I plead to you from my soul.
Countless days and fruitless nights
I spent in chairs, couches and cold floors.
Fluorescent lights beaming down
Numbing every emotion as time slowly passes.
I look and wait
speak to others
hoping you will just chime in
Jealous that my attention was diverted.
No sound just shallow movements of your chest.
Time here is mounting deep within me
patience giving way to rage
I took deep calculations once
before I was 18
1/3 of my life was spent hospitals.
instead of learning about patience.
Mr McCormick whacked her with his stick.
His nurse that was, he didn't want to be bothered.
He was reading the paper.
A political persuasion.
He'd sat on his glasses, so he couldn't see.
Frustration aggression maybe the theory.
Mrs Brady, a lovely old lady.
Elderly, but beautiful as she reported how she cavorted and partied when younger.
She's missing it so much, a passionate hungers.
With stiff old joints she wanted to dance.
A bit of a stumble, potential to tumble.
She lives in a world of being risk assessed.
Mr Jones an old bag of bones.
Poor fellow he gave up on all of his food.
He knew what he wanted.
His family all tried to persuade him.
To eat his meals.
He gave up on living, henceforth; so he'd only sip from a caring cup.
The nurse bade him goodbye, as from this life he slipped.
Stand outside on the pavement.
The window's wide open.
See his spirit fly free.
ALL NAMES IN THIS PIECE ARE PURELY FICTIONAL.
A free bird I am,
I am free,
but I am in no way cheap,
I'll sell my personality,
to my patients daily,
just to earn a living wage,
I smile at you,
you smile at me,
as I rabbit on,
I have patients,
lots of them,
and lots of it,
they seem to like my pitter patter,
somewhat like raindrops,
sometimes I hold their hand,
but only clinically,
I'm not sure why,
they like me,
but they tell me that it's so,
I guess they really must do.
s ha king
your life was planned out
by medical folders
you knew all about the
effects taking place in your body
but you were
r o o t e d
like a tree standing lone in a
the angels were on your side
and you kept your smile
beside your bed in a glass box
as you slept
you wore it every morning
three years wasn't a long time but
it was long enough to travel the world
j i tt
like a child on christmas morning
but this wasn't a holiday
and you broke the glass that held
the only thing keeping your head high
"i'm going to die anyway"
yet you were rooted
both feet planted on the ground
j o u r
you were ready to walk
a dirt road followed by angels in white
optimism carried on silver platters
a week to a month wasn't long enough for
travelling to snow covered peaks and screaming
"i am free and you cannot change me"
you cannot change me
a l o n e
among angels covered in grime
silver platters turned to dust and
smiles falling, fading, gone
both feet firmly to the ground and spoke
the words that tore the dirt off angels covered
in mud, brought snow covered peaks to you
"you cannot change me,
i am s t ro ng wi ll ed"
you are brave
How did you get here?
Perhaps there was a big bang, and so you were.
Maybe you hit the ground running as fast as your legs could take you.
Was it so that you opened you mouth and words poured out perfectly?
Perchance all that was obtainable was already yours.
My journey was not of such ease.
I was birthed after hours of labor.
For every step I walked I fell six times before.
For months my tears and laughs were my only way of expression.
My parents, as many, knew patience.
Our parents, our teachers, our siblings, even ourselves: we had patience.
We are here because of it.
Now we can marinate our meat for flavor, but we pop diet pills for fast results.
Now we can slow cook our meals, but we abuse drugs to erase our sorrows.
Now we can raise a baby, but we let go of precious relationships too easily.
Now we can be a teacher, but we give up on ourselves.
Patience is putting in the effort for results, even when we don’t see the results for weeks, even months.
Patience is choosing the narrow road, even when the wide one is less lonely.
Patience is taking all the loops, kinks, and bumps as they come; and not giving up after the first couple roadblocks.
Patience is to love unconditionally, even if we have to step back for a little while.
Patience is all rage; we all need more of it.
We are all patients for patience, but we get too sick of waiting.
Our doctor was there, our remedy too, but a cheap high walked past and we chased it.