Open the Floodgates
What strange cascades course down my spine -
invisible, unnameable, and as of yet, undiagnosed.
I only can liken them to rain or wind.
Sometimes they are as a shower -
pitter-pattering lightly down my back.
Other times they make a squall.
Rushing and gushing -
whether the currents be of rain or of wind,
the torrent pours down -
engulfing the system of my nerves
with its constant inundation of discomfort.
From the sky of modern medicine,
which once I stood beneath -
umbrella-less in my gullibility -
I received the bitter taste of something
ever surging in my mouth’s saliva -
the first sign of more tides to come.
Later there occurred a cloudburst of my brain,
causing to flow through me
unnatural cataclysmic side effects.
Now the hellish deluge surges sometimes too
over all my body’s rivers.
“Damned” up with some weird neurology -
awash am I
with whatever in my brain allows this rain
to pound me with persistence
and prevents it too from winding its way
to the ocean of sweet relief for which I long.
I pray for it all to be released.
Again and again, the deluge flows
as I continue to plead
please, oh, please, God -
open the floodgates.
April 28, 2022
for Edward Ibeh's Pick-A-Title, Vol 30 - Poetry Contest
Title Chosen: #2: Open the Floodgates
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2022
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