Convalescence

Time must pass in increments determined by
The pills I take, the clock's unwanted hours
Clumped in sixes for the Tramedol, in fours
For blessed Oxycodone. Gaps crop up. Time's
Not exact, as my lids drop and all goes blank
For hours, sometimes twice a day. The night's
Not set aside for rest, as day extracts no work
From me, so neither dark nor light mean much,
And time is imprecise. How odd that it's
Become this way, as distance now is well defined.
A little circle close to me is near. The rest is not
Just far; it is absurdly far away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 83 times
Written on 2018-09-27 at 18:42

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