poem

 Poem #41Sometimes I wake Up and there ’s no poetry anywhereWhich is another way of feeling Everything devoid of meaning.The coffee is just the coffeeA hot liquid in a Dad mug The birdsong a noise on the otherSide of the windowMy body just my bodySame as it always is Define windowDefine worldDefine bodyI have the answers but none of them is poetryI don't like it like this Life as a series of minutes and secondsA space where objects are arrayed.It pinches the heart.Without a poemThere ’s no threadWith which to weave Together the world of things But now the coffee is goneWork beckons, tasks await.I must become again the proper nounWho acts as he is defined .Under the circumstancesIt doesn ’t seem right to leave 5/21/22

Source: Buckeye Surgeon - May 21, 2022 Category: Surgery Authors: Jeffrey Parks MD FACS Source Type: blogs