Retarded limbs in dark surrounds,
Embattled heart ‘n muffled sounds;
Dying hope of life abounds
I am winded to the gut.
Slowly sinking through the clay,
Sly emotions slip and sway,
Tomorrow is another day
and I am winded to the gut.
Pain takes charge of limb and head,
Feeling like I need a bed,
Read a book; pray instead
I’m so winded, to the gut?
Twitching throat and anxiety,
“Heart, practice piety”
Re-integrate ‘to society
and rise above this deadly rut
Once thought it’s gone and then
Alas, it intrudes without pardon,
Rudely again my heart to harden,
I’m kicked again, in my gut.
Cycle, cycle, this awful groove,
Shakes it’s hand in sick reprove,
Denigration with one swift move!
I’m so winded in my gut.
So what now, my hopeless host;
Can you prevail above this ghost?
Healing physician – lost your boast?
I’m still winded to the gut.
Is that a light in this dark cave or
just some glow fly at the grave?
What will me from this dark pit save?
I bow my head and hold my gut.
Time passes by relentlessly;
Who’s in control – you or me?
These questions mean I still can’t see!
Oh, such turmoil in my gut.
Copyright © Keith Haines | Year Posted 2017
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