The Light Returns
I feel myself oh so slowly rise
Through the Abysmal black of surgical sleep
Wakening, drawn to the distant sound
Of my own moans.
When my lids flutter back
Sight is rewarded with the prescence of all my Beloveds
Gathered in conclave 'round my I.C.U. bed;
My travel-companion souls
Who bear the love and light that leads my own.
The doctor enters bearing good tidings;
The beast within was found and slain,
Its loss complete
At the sacrifice of nearly the whole of my stomach.
And so I lay grateful and gutted,
Though within it felt like the aftermath
Of worlds in collision.
A wreakage within,
And when they make me rise for the first time the very next day,
I feel a slow tide of broken glass and metal
Fall in chaos through my new internal spaces.
Still, its a lovely thing to be rising,