I languish here,
in the semi-grey
of some half-formed existence...
no longer whole;
simply a shadow without a host;
a mere remnant,
cast off long ago,
like random dust... blowing aimless in the wind
a feral spirit,
longing to find its other half...
desperate to touch again,
and to be touched again;
more deeply than the physical...
wary of the world at large;
weary of the search...
trapped within my own custom-crafted Hell...
imprisoned with the key...
inserted in the lock;
yet... not the strength to turn it...
beholden to the grip that holds me still...
frozen here in statis,
aching for even your faintest whisper
to loose my captive bonds...
here and always, I shall wait for you until...
your breath again releases me...
perfectly fulfilled;
else I shall stay forever lost; restrained;
betrothed to memories that so deep... remain instilled.
Buy my first poetry anthology Whispers in the Wake
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I recently spent eight months in hospital two of which was on a life support machine after a minor hernia operation went seriously wrong and I was infected with MRSA, which quickly spread throughout my body eating holes in my intestines, I was literally dying.
After four major operations to remove the damaged areas, I went from a super fit person to a living skeleton, slipping in and out consciousness for months.
During that period, I could not move, and my mental state possibly due to the effects of the morphine was such that I honestly thought I was being processed for Hell, where the nurses tending me were speaking Polish.
You poem brought that intense feeling of inadequacy back to me.
I think the nurses even despaired on me ever recovering.
Blessings, Christine xo
rlc
Ron
Regis