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H
Poems
Apr 2013
Surgeon. Not Human.
Dark and full of doom
Yet miracle prone.
Everyday in the office
I fix broken bones.
I piece back together
What gets carelessly torn.
Precisely placed sutures,
So skin is reborn.
Racing against a clock
Trying to never lose.
Feelings aren't relevant,
They scientifically can't bruise.
Each day a new patient.
Each day a new story.
Each day a new surgery
That most would find gory.
But when you've shut out feelings
For the most part of your life
It's easy to patch up others
Whose bodies have seen strife.
Fixing broken bones
The curer of a heart.
Fixing others while I'm broken
Is a complicated art.
Written by
H
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