Leander Darwin | + Follow Poet |
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Ow...My Head...

I can think of nothing else.
I can feel nothing else.
Nothing besides the pusling pain
Emmiting from the middle of my brain.

Is it the weather changing?
Is it my health changing?
Did I not sleep enough last night?
Or is just tension wringing it tight?

I see double of the keys,
Then one of each once more.
I can only guess these words...
I dare not look no more.

I guess the best and only cure,
Is to quit this creative allure.
And to crawl beneath my quilts,
And take leave of these throbbing jilts.

Headaches though such hindering irks,
Do possess such facinating quirks.
Just trying to locate the pain,
Takes more stratergy than any game.

Then indeed there is the question,
Of the type of ache that's made it's mention.
Round and round in circles it sends you,
Much how this poem continues.

Round and round your sulking head,
Till at last you drop into bed.
Albeit feeling like the dead.
Which is much the way it... stops.

Copyright © Leander Darwin | Year Posted 2009

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Carolyn Devonshire Date: 5/7/2009 6:20:00 PM The bleary-eyed feeling you describe in this intriguing poem is one to which writers can all relate, Leander. Sometimes we just need to shut our eyes and realize our efforts to concentrate and read more will be easier after some shut-eye. (Guess I'm not the only one who gets headaches and blurred vision after spending too many hours on the computer.) Great work! Love, Carolyn Login to Reply

Charmaine Chircop Date: 5/7/2009 3:05:00 PM you're sick,maybe fever or influenza;-),this is described so well,rest till you get better,3 days in bed writng poetry for us to read and you ll be healthy again;-)smile---charma Login to Reply