Fickle Pain, A true account Options

[Thoth]

Hi everyone, this is my first attempt to write something since my accident on 14 Feb it is a ramble of my thoughts soon after I gained contentiousness. I am stronger now, physically and mentally and writing again although I still can't do structured verse. The account is strange but true.

I have enjoyed a Christian upbringing so the appearance of the four sangomas is at odds with my beliefs. At the time though, it seemed the most natural thing and did not feel strange at all.

Hugs, Wally

The past months I have reached that point
and gone beyond it - many times!
Time and again I have wished for the pain to rise and cover
over my miserable existence - forever.

Pain is fickle though and did not comply,
Cruelly, it let me live, whilst holding me
in it’s unrelenting grasp - unable to move.
Unable even to think, yet still aware . . .
of a chiming waterfall, somewhere - whose monotonous music
played on and on.

The Maker never came,
only the aged face of Michael came.
He stared at me indifferently as I raged and pleaded
for him to let me escape.
The encrypted hands of a noble
clock on the wall never moved
but Michael said
“Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

All through the unending night – he remained,
staring indifferently yet he would not undo my bonds.
I raged more and tried to bargain for a knife
to cut my bonds while the four hands
of the cryptic clock on the wall
didn’t move.
And Michael said “Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

So I planned to kill Michael -
if only he would come close enough.
I would kill him with my hatred.
But he just stared at me still and would not come closer.

Until at last I cried out to God; “Please! Please, end the pain!”
“I give up, just let the pain end”

The monotonous tune of the waterfall
played on and on,
and the Maker never came.
Instead he sent his four disciples –
and Michael washed me, brushed my teeth
and wrapped me in a clean white sheet.
Then he took me along a darkened stone corridor.

On the right sat a counsel or four sanGomas,
but the sanGomas were not of human or spirit form!

The first, was a white bull, sunlit,
kind eyed and sympathetic.

The second, was a great baboon, a chief;
wise and all seeing. He probed me with beady eyes
and he saw my life.

The third, a large black bird, perhaps a tegwaan,(hammerkop)
indistinct in shadows, it gazed to the right,
with an air of indifference.

The forth and final sanGoma had no form.
From total darkness it radiated an evil presence
and I was afraid.

After we had passed the counsel Michael said to me;
“You have been judged!

“They said you are UNWORTHY TO DIE!
You must return”

Then Michael went away and came to me no more.

The encrypted face of the noble clock on the wall
never changed but the chiming waterfall
played on and on.

Slowly, time has eroded the pain away
until, now I can move - but still not walk.
I can drink yet am not quenched.
I eat but have no pleasure of food
and my wounded thoughts flutter helplessly on the floor.

The cryptic clock has gone and the chiming waterfall is silent.

Yes, pain is fickle, the heart is wanting
and the mind tries to put things in order - but is easily confused.

Awoken to a body that’s broken,
a shattered china doll – poorly repaired.
Patched organs and bones screwed together,
titanium rods, rigidly efficient - like the plastic tubes
that keep me alive.

The past is not what it once was.
The future as indeterminate as my bonesmith’s prognosis
and pain still clings to me like the sheets of my hospital bed.

Consciousness is something to be feared.
Dreaded sleep brings recurring nightmares,
and the warming sun is my friend no more.

Only questions remain
of tomorrow.

[Guest_Altay_*]

I sincerely hope that with time, the only mark that remains of your terrible experience is this wonderful poem. All the best in your recovery.

[Psyche]

Hi dear Wally,

This is indeed an impressive piece. In spite of making me shudder because I know it's true & tragic -and that you're writing about yourself- still I find an extraordinary power lurking in your lines.

The encrypted face of the noble clock on the wall
never changed but the chiming waterfall
played on and on.

The varied repetition of this part is highly striking, as well as poetical. And then they become silent.

the appearance of the four sangomas is at odds with my beliefs

Indeed, this is interesting. I also have a Christian upbringing (but pretty casual, I believe my father was an atheist, so my mother put me thru' the rituals with a low profile), but at this point in my life I describe myself as spiritual. Never found my niche in dogmatic religion. So I'm terribly interested in what the Christians call pagan or primitive beliefs, or maybe in dissenters from other religions..

Perhaps you could explain what 'sangomas' are? Since I read your beautiful poem in R&F last night, I know about the San and their horrible plight & disappearance from their homeland (same story in Patagonia, where I hail from). I imagine 'gomas' are healers/soothsayers/visionaries, like our Earth People's 'machi'...but it's for you to say!

There could be a connection with our Bible's Revelations, of course, where four beasts guard the throne: a lion, a calf (or ram), a beast 'with the face of a man', and a flying eagle. In the four cases they're "like a .....", and the face of the man is not described.
In the successive translations of the Bible from Aramean (and some lesser known Persian tongues) and Hebrew, into Greek, then Latin, and then to the Romance & Germanic languages, there's been a load of mixups! The Greeks called eagles 'ravens' and even Eve's famous apple was not an apple at all! There were no apple trees in Eden, or Mesopotamia in the area of the Euphrates, but rather vines, figs, olives, etc. The Gospels never mention apples...LOL....

I also note that you speak of 'Michael'. Maybe you have a relative called Michael, nonetheless in Revelations we have Michael and his angels fighting the dragon, also referred to as serpent, and then Devil. Michael wins, as you no doubt know!

We don't have much of an idea of what Michael was like, maybe he was rather indifferent, as in your poem. And God did sent four angels (you mention disciples).

Hey, I apologize! I'm SO interested in mystical themes & happenings, that I've become far too wordy...geez. Although we studied Theology at university, nonetheless I went further and investigated beliefs of about 2.000 BC, became fascinated with the ancient prophet Zarathustra, who lived in a cave like a hermit until 'one God' called him to predicate & sent him on a mission (nothing to do with Nietzsche's Zarathustra...LOL...except N chose his name for reasons I won't explain, or you'll drift off to sleep if you haven't already).

And the beliefs of original dwellers of our planet are strangely similar in many aspects.

Wally, the last part of your poem is brilliant in its heartbreaking truths, so well expressed. I can only say I'm so sorry this had to happen to you. In my heart I know that it's really a new beginning for you, something which doesn't happen often. You still have some things to do before Michael considers you worthy to die....methinks besides writing poetry, but that's for you to figure out. It will come to you.

As I close, I feel that a zillion rational minds are laughing at me. Can't be helped.

Warmest regards, Syl***

[Peterpan]

Dear Wally~

I had contact with Nicole during your time in hospital and I was not confused about the pain and suffering you endured. At the same time a young friend of ours also had a car accident and he was in ICU in Durban for a long time too. He is also in a convales stage. His injuries were not as bad as yours. I guess you had a lot of determination and hopefully still have to heal and endure this physical torture. During ones life we question happenings and situations. Physical pain is very difficult to come to terms with. Your poem reflects a huge amount of endurance and sub-conscious visions which are confusing - perhaps, and which will reveal themselves in time. I think you have had a privileged experience of survival and to have the gift of writing it down is a further privilege. I thank you for allowing us to read it.


These experiences do make us better people. I am sure you dont really care now...the body takes a beating of this nature and our minds certainly endure a lot of strain.

You have given us a lot of food for thought. (I will be back.) But, rest assured we are here to support you through this difficult time. Keep writing!

Chat again later.

Bev

PS
I cant help but suggest that Michael was maybe an Angel?


.

[Maggie]

Hi Wally,

I have admired your work for quite some time, and was extremely concerned when you were so critical. While I've never suffered such as you did and still do, I do have much experience in the hospital. Both I and my ex-husband went through open heart surgery, and as is customary, we were both put on morphine afterwards. My ex suffered from biological psychosis because of the morphine. My reaction was terrifying dreams. I'm wondering if you were given morphine or a derative. Just a thought.

As for your fine poem, it's fantastic to have you writing again!!! I don't doubt for a moment you'll be back writing rhyme and rhythm again shortly too!!!

Keep up the fine work!!!

Fondly,

Peggy

[Psyche]

Hi again, Wally!

I just had to come back to re-read your poem, especially after Bev's and Peggy's commentaries, which add to the interest.

Mainly I want to say that my own comments and questions have been made in the light of discovering a fascinating poem. I'm aware that pain medications and anaesthesia can cause visions as well as psychosis (my own husband underwent 3 major cardiac surgeries, and the 5-hour anaesthetic of the last one produced a permanent psychosis, whereby he's now in a nursing-home). The striking part about visions is their collective nature, in Jungian jargon. Our primitive part of the brain seems to recollect similar experiences....everything is connected in a mysterious way.

In your case, you've remembered your visualizations and written them down deftly, using poetical recourses in an innovative fashion. No doubt you and your readers will eventually want to prune a bit here & there, but essentially, IMHO, this is a wonderful poem in itself, as Altay has said in one line!

Yes, Nicola also sent me info about your accident. I wrote to you once, but perhaps it was too soon and you've forgotten.

Actually, one can have visions by just hyperventilating! Or, like the yogi, by hardly breathing at all...LOL...The revelance of yours is that you've poetized them brilliantly.

I do hope your pain is decreasing daily. I expect you're made to do movements and gradual rehab? Whatever it is, my best wishes from across the Atlantic & don't allow them to bully you too much!

Hugs, Syl***

[Arnfinn]

G'day, Wally


Amazing stuff!

I mean, the contents (story) of your true account (of reality) and your existence in another place of Judgement.

You have been going through a tough time.

I hope things will take the turn (for the good), emotionally and healthwise.

Kind regards,


John.

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Wally, how wonderful to have you back here writing, I know that you had a lot of people praying for you. This brought tears to my eyes, as I read and thought how much pain I go through daily then realize that compared to what you have, I have nothing. But yes pain can cause strange thing to go on in your mind and so can medications, I have experienced both and have had many nightmares and visions and heard many a strange thing, the wonder would be if you had no experience at all. I am really glad to see that you are well enough to write. Only time can tell how much you will have to live with, I tell myself every day that there must be a reason for all this, but still have yet to figure it out.

Best of luck during your recuperation.
Steve

[Peterpan]

Hi Wally!

I did post above. But, I am back. I think you could/should have a stronger title...? Just my opinion. The title is not as powerful as the poem.

Bev

[Thoth]

Thank you all for sharing that rough but honest account with me. Yes, I was on morphine and pethadine at one stage, the dreams were clearly influenced by drugs but the powerful symbols still baffle me. Michael may have been an angel but may also could have been a duty nurse. (They were all angels too) I guess I will never know. The chiming sound I realized afterwards was one of the instruments in ICU but it produced the image of a waterfall in my mind. The clock was possibly also an instrument beside my bed.

I'm told the intense pain was experienced as they cut down on my pain killers to bring me out of the coma.

I have had so much encouragement from all my poetry friends and have learned that many have also had traumatic experiences. I am not unique, others have come through much worse than me and survived and many like Steve live with continual pain.

I am shocked that morphine can be so destructive Syl. Scary stuff all this, they pump it into us at every operation! So sad about what happened to your hubby, so sad . . .

Bev, yes the Title is weak but I was tired when I finished this piece. Any ideas?

I have been away in the bushvelt at a friends ranch convalescing the last week and it was good for body and soul to sit at a campfire watch the stars again and listen to the sounds of an African night.The new moon silver in the red sunset. All these things are important symbols in my life and appear in most of my poems.

Thinking that not long ago it seemed that I would never them again and I cried. (Still emotionally wobbly as well) I worked hard and feel stronger now, even the muse is whispering in my ear again.
Love you all!

Wal

[Psyche]

Hi Wally!

Just dropping by to say I've read your recent comments. So glad you were able to rest at a friend's ranch!

Can't say much now as it's past midnight, will return. IMO, you needn't try to rationalize your visions, just let 'em be.
Another person would have had different visions in the same situation. Yours are fascinating in themselves, and helped produce a new sort of poetry...

Don't worry, my husband wasn't given morphine for his cardiac surgeries. It was the long hours under anaesthesia with extra-corporeal blood circulation (no circulation in the brain) that finally broke his mind. I've not heard of morphine being so destructive at all, in fact all opiodes and even marijuana are good pain killers and have been used for milenia (not the opiodes, but real opium). They should allow them back, as medical marijuana is allowed in some European countries.

I can emphasize with your emotional feelings, wanting to cry about the stars in the African sky, the campfire, the sounds...you'd thought you'd not see them again, and there you are with your Muse beginning to whisper into your ear.

Will return! Hope your pain continues to diminish, that healing-time will be shorter than expected....all the best, Wal dear friend.
Syl***
PS: Can we do a little bit of nitting with your poem now? Maybe clip it a little, but just a little...!

[Thoth]

Dear Syl,

Thank you for understanding and also for believing this piece is worth polishing. I would be glad to get some critique for as you know freeform is not my forte. Nit away dearest!
Hugs, Wally

[Psyche]

Hi again, Wally! I've dropped in especially to say that I haven't forgotten about nitting this mysterious, intriguing piece. I've been buried under loads of work, and this poem deserves proper examination (I'm not at all sure whether I'm qualified!!).

I also feel that even tho' it's FV, it has this dreamlike (nightmarish) or visionary quality, which gives it a special flow on a different level of consciousness, and one wouldn't want to make that vanish by clipping it too much. Even the time sequences should be left untouched, IMHO. What I mean to say is that it should not be subjected to our sort of chronological tidying-up, or expect the repetitions to be always the same....and so on!

So please forgive me, Wally, for the delay. I'm really looking forward to going thru' it with silken gloves! Meanwhile, maybe somebody else will pop in, so it's good to have bumped it up top!

More hugs!
Syl***

[Psyche]

Gee, Wally, the more I read this piece, the less fault I find with it. It has great internal rhymes along with powerful content & wording.
S1 may be the weakest, relatively speaking, simply because L1 starts off as straight prose, altho' then one captures some inner rhymes soon enough....mmm....perhaps not such good ones as further on.
Punctuation could be modified, perhaps. Peggy is good at that!
I think I'll copy & paste in Word, can't stay here and perhaps get cut off by fickle Internet...HA!
Be back, Syl***

[Maggie]

Hi Wally,

Syl thought I might want to look at some punctuation and perhaps recommend a few changes. Think I will see if I notice anything which might seem amiss if you don't mind.


The past six months I have reached that point ("the point" is better than "that point")
and gone beyond it - many times!
Time and again I have wished for the pain to rise and cover
over my miserable existence - forever.

Pain is fickle though and did not comply,
Cruelly, it let me live, whilst holding me
in it’s unrelenting grasp - unable to move.
Unable even to think, yet still aware . . . ( suggest leaving out the periods)
of a chiming waterfall, somewhere - whose monotonous music
played on and on.

The Maker never came, (should have period instead of comma)
only the aged face of Michael came.
He stared at me indifferently as I raged and pleaded
for him to let me escape.
The encrypted hands of a noble
clock on the wall never moved (comma after "moved")
but Michael said
“Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

All through the unending night – he remained, ( I'd leave out the dash.)
staring indifferently yet he would not undo my bonds.(comma after "indifferently")
I raged more and tried to bargain for a knife
to cut my bonds while the four hands
of the cryptic clock on the wall
didn’t move.
And Michael said “Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

So I planned to kill Michael -
if only he would come close enough.
I would kill him with my hatred.
But he just stared at me still and would not come closer.

Until at last I cried out to God; “Please! Please, end the pain!”(maybe make two lines)
“I give up, just let the pain end”

The monotonous tune of the waterfall
played on and on,
and the Maker never came.(I'd say "yet" instead of "and."
Instead he sent his four disciples –
and Michael washed me, brushed my teeth
and wrapped me in a clean white sheet.
Then he took me along a darkened stone corridor.

On the right sat a counsel or four sanGomas,
but the sanGomas were not of human or spirit form!

The first, was a white bull, sunlit,
kind eyed and sympathetic. (hyphen to connect "kind" and "eyed")

The second, was a great baboon, a chief;
wise and all seeing. He probed me with beady eyes
and he saw my life.

The third, a large black bird, perhaps a raven,(Period after "raven")
indistinct in shadows, it gazed to the right,
with an air of indifference.

The forth and final sanGoma had no form.
From total darkness it radiated an evil presence
and I was afraid.

After we had passed the counsel Michael said to me;(comma, not semi-colon)
“You have been judged!

“They said you are UNWORTHY TO DIE!
You must return”

Then Michael went away and came to me no more.

The encrypted face of the noble clock on the wall
never changed but the chiming waterfall (I'd use "and" instead of "but.")
played on and on.

Slowly, time has eroded the pain away
until, now I can move - but still not walk.
I can drink yet am not quenched.
I eat but have no pleasure of food
and my wounded thoughts flutter helplessly on the floor.(I'd make this two lines.)

The cryptic clock has gone and the chiming waterfall is silent.

Yes, pain is fickle, the heart is wanting
and the mind tries to put things in order - but is easily confused.(use comma instead of dash)

Awoken to a body that’s broken,
a shattered china doll – poorly repaired.(I'd add "I'm" to the beginning of this line.)
Patched organs and bones screwed together,
titanium rods, rigidly efficient - like the plastic tubes
that keep me alive.

The past is not what it once was.
The future as indeterminate as my bonesmith’s prognosis
and pain still clings to me like the sheets of my hospital bed.(Drop the "s" on "clings.")

Consciousness is something to be feared.
Dreaded sleep brings recurring nightmares,
and the warming sun is my friend no more.

Only questions remain
of tomorrow.

Okay, Wally, those are my suggestions. Use or lose. Good job!!!

Peggy

[Thoth]

Thank you Peggy dearest!
I shall do a revision soon.

Hugs, Wally

[Psyche]

Dear Wally,
I've come back with a slightly clipped version (with your permission, and to toss or take). I also changed a few words that seemed to repeat too often, such as 'indifference' and one or two others. Hope you can pick out a little something that might be suitable to your very own reality.
BTW, I'm not one of those poets who refuses to relate author with poem, and anyway you've told us it's a true account... ;-)

I wonder whether you intended to indent the part about the sanGomas, because I notice that when I open the quote window those lines are indented in a slanted fashion. They also indented when I pasted your poem on Word. The only way to keep them that way here, is to type a pale dotted line before the line begins, as similar as possible to the skin you're using here at MM. But maybe it's just a trick played on me by techno! They would look good if you manage it.

Hi everyone, this is my first attempt to write something since my accident on 14 Feb it is a ramble of my thoughts soon after I gained contentiousness. I am stronger now, physically and mentally and writing again although I still can't do structured verse. The account is strange but true.

I have enjoyed a Christian upbringing so the appearance of the four sangomas is at odds with my beliefs. At the time though, it seemed the most natural thing and did not feel strange at all.

Hugs, Wally

The past six months I have reached that point
and gone beyond it - many times!
Time and again I have wished for the pain to rise and cover
over my miserable existence - forever.

Pain is fickle though and did not comply,
Cruelly, it let me live, whilst holding me
in it’s unrelenting grasp - unable to move.
Unable even to think, yet still aware . . .
of a chiming waterfall, somewhere - whose monotonous music
played on and on.

The Maker never came,
only the aged face of Michael came.
He stared at me indifferently as I raged and pleaded
for him to let me escape.
The encrypted hands of a noble
clock on the wall never moved
but Michael said
“Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

All through the unending night – he remained,
staring indifferently yet he would not undo my bonds.
I raged more and tried to bargain for a knife
to cut my bonds while the four hands
of the cryptic clock on the wall
didn’t move.
And Michael said “Hush, it is the wee hours and others sleep.”

So I planned to kill Michael -
if only he would come close enough.
I would kill him with my hatred.
But he just stared at me still and would not come closer.

Until at last I cried out to God; “Please! Please, end the pain!”
“I give up, just let the pain end”

The monotonous tune of the waterfall
played on and on,
and the Maker never came.
Instead he sent his four disciples –
and Michael washed me, brushed my teeth
and wrapped me in a clean white sheet.
Then he took me along a darkened stone corridor.

On the right sat a counsel or four sanGomas,
but the sanGomas were not of human or spirit form!

The first, was a white bull, sunlit,
kind eyed and sympathetic.

The second, was a great baboon, a chief;
wise and all seeing. He probed me with beady eyes
and he saw my life.

The third, a large black bird, perhaps a raven,
indistinct in shadows, it gazed to the right,
with an air of indifference.

The forth and final sanGoma had no form.
From total darkness it radiated an evil presence
and I was afraid.

After we had passed the counsel Michael said to me;
“You have been judged!

“They said you are UNWORTHY TO DIE!
You must return”

Then Michael went away and came to me no more.

The encrypted face of the noble clock on the wall
never changed but the chiming waterfall
played on and on.

Slowly, time has eroded the pain away
until, now I can move - but still not walk.
I can drink yet am not quenched.
I eat but have no pleasure of food
and my wounded thoughts flutter helplessly on the floor.

The cryptic clock has gone and the chiming waterfall is silent.

Yes, pain is fickle, the heart is wanting
and the mind tries to put things in order - but is easily confused.

Awoken to a body that’s broken,
a shattered china doll – poorly repaired.
Patched organs and bones screwed together,
titanium rods, rigidly efficient - like the plastic tubes
that keep me alive.

The past is not what it once was.
The future as indeterminate as my bonesmith’s prognosis
and pain still clings to me like the sheets of my hospital bed.

Consciousness is something to be feared.
Dreaded sleep brings recurring nightmares,
and the warming sun is my friend no more.

Only questions remain
of tomorrow.

Fickle Pain, by Wally (Thoth)

The past six months I’ve scaled a peak
and moved beyond it - many times!
I’ve wished the pain to soar and crush
my miserable existence - forever.

This is the only S I changed a bit, coz it seemed to me that it's straight prose in your poem, different from the rest. But these are just ideas!

Pain is fickle, though, and did not comply;
maliciously, it let me live, whilst holding me
in its unrelenting grasp - unable to move.
Powerless even to think, yet still aware . . .
of a chiming waterfall, somewhere -
whose monotonous music played on and on.

Added a couple of commas and suggested two alternative qualifiers.

The Maker never came,
only the aged face of Michael came.
He stared at me indifferently as I raged and pleaded
for him to let me escape.
The encrypted hands of a noble
clock on the wall never moved,
but Michael said:
“Hush, it’s the wee hours and others sleep.”

All through the unending night – he remained,
staring impassively. He would not undo my bonds.
I raged more and tried to bargain for a knife
to slash my bonds, while the four hands
of the cryptic clock on the wall didn’t move.
And Michael said “Hush, it’s the wee hours and others sleep.”

Suggested 'impassively' so as not to repeat, take or toss!

So I planned to kill Michael -
if only he would come close enough.
I would slay him with my hatred.
He stared at me still and wouldn’t come closer.

Until at last I cried out to God; “Please! Please, end the pain!”. . .

“I give up, just let the pain end.”

The monotonous tune of the waterfall
played on and on,
and the Maker never came.
Instead he sent his four disciples –
Michael washed me, brushed my teeth
and wrapped me in a clean white sheet.
Then he took me along a darkened stone corridor.

On the right sat a counsel of four sanGomas,
but they were not of human or spirit form!

The first sanGoma was a white bull, sunlit,
kind-eyed and sympathetic.

The second was a great baboon, a chief;
wise and all-seeing. He probed me with beady eyes
and saw my life.

The third, a large black bird, perhaps a raven
-indistinct in shadows- gazed to the right
with an air of aloofness.

Changed very little, maybe some punctuation and suggested 'aloofness'.

The forth and final sanGoma had no form.
From total darkness it radiated an evil presence
and I was afraid.

After we had passed the counsel Michael said to me;
“You have been judged!”

“They said you are UNWORTHY TO DIE!
You must return”

Michael went away and came to me no more.

The encrypted face of the noble clock on the wall
never changed but the chiming waterfall
played on and on. . .

- - - <<<<<< Thought it could have a marked spacing here, coz your tone changes.

Ploddingly, time has eroded the pain away
until now I can move - but still not walk.
I can drink yet am not quenched.
I eat but have no pleasure in food.
My wounded thoughts flutter helplessly on the floor. <<<<<<< Impressive line, Wally.

The cryptic clock has gone.
Why is the chiming waterfall silent? <<<<<< Suggest question mark for doubt still hanging in there, maybe?.

Yes, pain is fickle, the heart is wanting
and the mind tries to put things in order - but is swiftly confused. <<<<<<< Thought 'swiftly' might sound better...

Awoken to a beaten body,
I’m a shattered china doll – oddly repaired.
Patched organs, bones screwed together,
titanium rods, rigidly efficient - like the plastic tubes
keeping me alive.

This S makes me shudder. So crudely real. Suggested 'beaten' because you used 'shattered' in the next line. 'Oddly' simply because further on you admit 'rigidly efficient', which would deny 'badly repaired'.... dunno, Wally.

The past is not what it once was;
the future as indeterminate as my bonesmith’s prognosis.
Pain clings to me like the sheets of my hospital bed.

Fantastic S....wow... But I sure hope the pain is receding by now.

Consciousness is something to be feared.
Dreaded sleep brings recurring nightmares,
but warm sunlight is my friend no more.

Just seemed to be too many 'ings' in the above S.

Of tomorrow,
only questions remain. . .

Added suspension dots, if you care for them.

I continue to view your flowing lines as extraordinary, along with the visions. Especially since you remember the visions. I'm convinced they have deep spiritual meaning.
If you don't change a thing, then let it be...It's all yours!

Hope the visit to your daughter Nicola was enjoyable, and that seeing the docs was... well, helpful!

I'm so glad to see you posting in Herme's.
Hugs, Syl***