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by Fyn Author IconMail Icon
Rated: ASR · Poetry · Emotional · #1946471
Even the strong...
Tears flavor her words
sounding strange, foreign
from one who is the essence of strength.
The learned ones, the doctors
do not know why she hurts
when their tests show nothing.
Absolutely nothing.

She cannot lie down or get any sleep,
she cannot sit, indeed,
she can barely walk for shuffling
but it is the best position--
no best about it.
It may be this or that,
possibly the other thing, but
they do not know
and their proscriptions and prescriptions
do nothing.

Never a complainer,
ever the active one
who eats right and lives right
brought to utter weakness and they don't know why.
Relax, they say.
When the pain surrounds you,
chokes you as you wander midnight floors
craving even a moment of not hurting
and your brain races through cloudy wonders
if and what and why
and you can do nothing.

I hurt for her going about my day.
Personal victories minute--selfish
to share. Guilty when I, personally,
actually sleep all night for a change
and wake energized. Petty indulgence now.
I listen, empathize, pray.
And feel helpless, because, essentially
I can do nothing.
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