Un-Rhyming Poems (Vol.3)

METAMORPHOSIS

they inject the red, then the clear bags follow,

the other meds, the recovery stuff, the meals,

the rest.

i try to walk. my heart feels it.

5 days of isolation. no hugs.

i mostly sleep, waiting for the force to arrive.

it eeks in, gradually. miraculously.

i can cook, drink and taste something.

i make a joke, read a book, put music on.

i walk up a hill. my heart feels it.

weak legs. delicate skin.

the hope only

that wins.

the dream

to live normally

again,

is enough to fill a day

happily.

REAL LIFE

what are my choices?

gaze into my coffee. stare at a plant. enjoy the glare of a window

dream of things.

real life has fewer choices. fewer complaints. fewer problems.

real life always wins

because it’s simple.

the simplest thing of all.

real life is the butterfly that goes unseen.

grass cut. cloud cover.

imagining things.

screaming children that eventually

stop trying.

a cold mountain in summer.

i see it all. i smile at it all.

knowing that

soon it’ll all be over…

CLOUDS

i don’t need to picture it…

she wears my red jumper as if it’s hers

sips the same coffee

writes her journal

preparing to climb a mountain

every day’s the same

almost

and i like it, providing that it lasts

for today is not the same if there’s no next week

we’ll watch the sky, predicting our future clouds

knowing we don’t have those powers

or even close

and then get on with our day…

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