Operation

At three o’clock, malt whisky (ten years old),
Napoleon brandy follows (warm and gentle),
to ease away concern a mind may hold,
about the planned assault upon “God’s temple.”

An apogee to years of aggravation
(a body wracked by rampant throbs and aches);
four different ailments blend to cause frustration,
while giddiness, fatigue are nature’s brakes.

What lies ahead, is long and lingering pain,
the road sign-posted, death just round the bend;
no trace of fear but numbness in the brain,
the Reaper nearly welcomed as a friend.

The killer can be cancelled at a stroke,
then other treatments tested over time;
let surgeons try to lift the heavy yoke,
to hesitate prolongs the pantomime.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.

Please Login to post a comment

Lamoureux Avatar
November 8, 2016 at 7:53 PM
A sad one.
Logan Avatar
November 8, 2016 at 10:15 PM
It worked out well though. Those surgeons succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.
Get a Premium Membership
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a Premium Membership.
Book: Diverse Voices: The Poetry of Human Rights and the Pursuit of Peace