Bring to me your broken down
Your rattling and cracked
Send me all your fractured hearts
The pains; the sprains and smarts

Deliver to me your wounded
Your tortured mentally alone
Pass to me your elderly infirm
The babies born before their term

Rush to me your weak of will
Your dependant; addicted and lost
Blow to me those down on their knees
The drunk. Morose. Self-inflicted injuries

Laugh with me at human things
Your odd accidents and stories
Triage with me as I tend the wound
Make you better than the you I found

Present to me your desperate
Your shattered and your morbid
Breathe with me as surgery makes well
Exhale! On my skill your fate befell

Lay on me your one in three
Your canker’d and your wretched
Move to me those at end of time
When curtain falls on final pantomime

Please bear with me when times get hard
When I slip up and make odd mistake
Pray for me at seventy. No dotage; still I strive
So proud to play my part in keeping you alive

Raise thanks with me for visionary
My creator; father Aneurin Bevan
Have patience with me when I seem slow
Many patients to see in daily ebb and flow.

©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness 2018 – All rights reserved)

Someone is suffering, what're you going to do?
If I have the capability to relieve them of their suffering then that is what I'm going to do
Regardless of who they are or what they're worth
It just doesn't get anymore complicated than that
When we started this, it seemed so simple
We were going to help people.
But what if those ideals can die?
What if those hopes can fade into the failure of the system?
You have to ask yourself "How do I protect the ideals I came here for?"

I have awoken at an early hour, Early morning or earlier than I want, but the gathering has begun. It appears in clusters as they say, as the pain gently taps, almost an absent thought, but if not aware, taking over all focus or any thoughts beyond the pain. I see the dark on the other side of the blade as I look over the edge of the crevasse trying not to go too far into the depth of my pain. It has been many years with a dance of doctors, drugs, along with a little experimentation along the way. A form of self-imposed self-medication. Avoiding the dark on of that side is to avoid the doctor's opiates advise.

I could feel it.
The pressure rising in the room
like I was back in the fire ;

heat rising above me as I lay on the ground
******* in all the clean oxygen I could find

Like I was back on the fire;
crawling across my bedroom floor trying to find a way out amongst the clouds of smoke

Like I was back in the fire;
feeling my skin boil as I tumble down the stairs looking for the front door

Like I was back in the fire

The fire

All I can feel are the flames dancing on my skin

I felt like I’m back in the fire even though I knew we made it out alive but the fire

it’s all I can feel now

I sat in that room for 3 hours

wondering if the doctors could feel the pressure like I do

as long as it functions
without any problem
it is merely your
    mostly unnoticed
tool to get through life

once it acts up
doctors step in
and you are lucky to recover