He looked at me, eyes dull and cold,
“What the hell are you doing here?”
And just like that-my heart caved in,
Shattered by the words I feared.
I had come with love in trembling hands,
A daughter needing something small-
Just a soft goodbye, a crack of light,
But he built another wall.
I stood there stunned, not sure to speak,
Not sure if he even saw
The child behind my grown-up face
Still reaching through the flaw.
I wanted to scream, I’m your daughter,
I’m here because I care,
But his voice was sharp, and full of fire,
And none of that was there.
I tried to make sense of his anger,
Was it pain that made him blind?
Was it cancer eating through his words,
Or the damage in his mind?
Cirrhosis, Hep C, too many wounds-
They stole the man I knew.
And maybe somewhere deep inside,
He missed me coming through.
But all I have are those last words,
They echo in my chest-
Not “I love you,” not “thank you,”
Not even “I wish you the best.”
And still I wonder, every night-
If he’d been without his disease-
Would he have instead changed
His final words to me?
Feet
Basketballs
Jaundice, his words lost
A victim of cirrhosis
Gone
Though warned to stop smoking and drinking beer,
Why should I quit things that give me such joy?
So much wise advice I refused to hear.
All good things of life I vowed to enjoy.
But when I was told I had lung cancer,
And my liver scarred with cirrhosis.
Without the doctor giving the answer,
To my question, I guessed the prognosis.
I'm tied to survival with a thin thread,
My vibrant past now fades like a mirage,
Instead, imminent death is what I dread.
My life wracked with pains, no balm to assuage.
I finally constructed my life a mess,
Chaos now lives deep inside my body,
Causing my heart a serious distress.
Flee bad habits, my plea to somebody.
You defy belief
Thanks dear
I mean, seven in the morning, and you’re sober
Pub went on fire, early night
Someday you will die a lonely man
My God, that philosophy degree has done you good
Why, because I state the obvious
Exactly, we’re all going to die someday
Not from liver cirrhosis
No, you’ll go from nagging-itis
Always the comic
Being married to you dear brings out the best in me
Do you ever wonder why I left
Have you left
Yes, I’m now happy with Jeff
Philosophy again, seven in the morning, you passing by
I was concerned about you
Jeff’s boring the pants off you
No he isn't, he’s my rock
Fancy a quickie
Certainly not
C’mon he’s a boring history teacher
Jeff’s a lecturer
It’s written all over your face, frustration my dear
Our sex life is great
Sex to the Boer war, riveting
Jeff is tuned into me
Battle of Britain music, is that oral to Jeff
Hate you
I see that look in your eyes
Hate you
You want me
Shut up, let's go
Will you be passing by again anytime soon
Not if I can help it
You sure, I don’t mind helping out
Going for a romantic weekend with Jeff
See you Monday then
Only if I'm passing by
Do not produce children
telepathic hypochondriac...
don't transform girls
in symptomatic blind
don't do women
changed functions
think of the wounds
Like splenic roses
But oh don't forget
the rose of the rose
From the rose of Hiroshima
the perpetual rose
the radioactive rose
monstrous and stupid
The hepatic rose with cirrhosis
The anti rose, atomic
discolored and unperfumed
Sans rose sans nothing... !
PS Interactive reinterpretation of the poem Rosa de Hiroshima from Vinicius
de Morais, Brazilian poet BY Alkas poetry
A shade of yesterday resigns.
As an ancient star never aligns.
To shine beyond the path it's given.
And let light in when it's forgiven.
A cosmic trail of never ending.
Lost in the mail forever sending.
An unopened message of love.
That only comes from up above.
Return to sender ever ender.
To never know a warmth so tender.
Compassion's not addressed to some.
A mailed letter that did not come.
Forgiveness lives inside forgivers.
For some, it's cirrhosis of the liver.
Till death do part straight from the heart.
For some, they just can't seem to start.
An endless longing for tomorrow.
To pay for yesterday's we borrow.
In hopes all of our dreams come true.
Before our time on earth is through.
Have I found you upon a mistake?
A misgiven--prison - yet a gift just the same
Scars mend; however, my eternal lacks such privilege
My place will always be place, a moment's glance
I thought I'd lost that sweet smell, that honeysuckle aroma of wanting
For I was revisited time and time again, with the inhalation of burning leaves
Now is the time for mending. I look forward to getting drunk on rose water
Let me swirl in the emotions that preface yearning
Starvation led to my cirrhosis, my anorexic heart, which long-awaited the nutrition that could only come from you
As you have breathed that sacred breath of life back into me, one I thought only a cherub could behold
Did you hear the music?
That Symphony I wrote so long ago.
It lured you to me
Brought you home, gave me place , expired no more, for now, I live, letting go of all the yesteryears
I constantly search for it
but it's enigmatical elusive,
hidden in a Mona Lisa smile.
Should I arm myself against self inflicted pains?
Camouflage my feelings with insouciant emotions?
For all my cirrhosis equivocal endeavors,
I manage only to forge a jealous rift,
until fragile truths bring sullen tears.
For God is love, and love is truth.
Had I misused it?
Is that why I can't find it now?
Yet they say that love is beautiful.
Where does true beauty lie?
All I find is veiled secrets,
thinly disguised behind mirthful masks
frivolously worn on carefree Valentine days.
Should in dire despair give up?
Now 52, she was one of the first heroin addicts I had ever met.
Having been addicted for years, now death was her greatest threat.
Both her days and nights were spent turning tricks and getting high.
Having failed to be free many times, she decided to give it one last try.
She decided to check into Prevention House, which is where I met her.
Her life would be forever changed, beginning that cold Chicago December.
She was tempted to protest, but she felt this time she will not fail the test
She waved goodbye to heroin heaven and said hello to her haven of rest.
Then, there was Mac who was an angry and bitter man bound by alcohol.
He tells a story of shooting a man and the thrill of watching him fall.
Mac later tried alcohol for cheap thrills which became his greatest fall of all. He did beat alcohol but was never able to be cured from cirrhosis of the liver.
Like Flo, Mac overcame his addiction and gained peace with God forever.
122320PSCtest, Addiction Poetry, Rob Levasseur
A deer in my cabin roadway
regards me curious
like a painter at his easel
As twilight flickering, catches its coat,
dappled patches of brown.
"Are you okay?" It nods, a neck swoop down, in flourishes.
"Do you want more apples?" It bobs again
before fleet footed to the woods away.
My cabin mate would have gaped in wonder
but he's not here.
He fell in love with barley whiskey.
Kidney failure
Cirrhosis
That took his apple grin away.
But not before his body screamed
a spinning form in spasms
to miss the fleeting hooves of deer.
Poem composed: October 2020
I long for it with strong passion,
Though liver cirrhosis is its caption,
I'm married to him with strong desire,
As he sets my heart on hot fire.
Come cold,come warmth I consume like food,
Though quick sand and slippery floor I stand,
Ranting! Ranting!!,benching as I speak,
Blood pressure and heart beats get to peak.
I see stars and the future with clear eyes,
Full of smiles and sadness with little flies,
Sometimes I dance naked without shame,
Lost to the other world with great fame.
My Pen as a writer vomits pure inks,
Just like its master as he stinks and sinks,
I might be drunk but I know I make sense,
Even if the world is full of nonsense.
I hunger for people to do right,
So that the sun can shine so bright,
And becomes nice to ride on this light,
Which makes the aggrieved to stop the fight,
Good leadership and measures to end their plight.
My autopsy room is a confessional,
where killers in absentia divulge
their sins through bodies
rigid and frigid, mutilated and mute.
Graffiti of abrasions, contusions and lacerations
reenact without deceit or reservations
a catalogue of perversions and violations.
Rage, hatred, greed, jealousy, sickness
explode and leave behind vandalized anatomies,
a *********** of naked emotions
in the topography of vacated husks.
Silently, they talk.
With my eyes, I listen.
They confide in me about themselves too,
these chatty cadavers,
about their public faces and private hell.
Tattoos speak of loves and obsessions,
silicone breasts betray insecurities,
medications reveal internal insurgencies,
needle marks give away muffled screams,
cirrhosis lets on alcoholic dreams.
A hundred foibles preserved by the
candor of rigor mortis,
each corpse an abridged,
unfinished biography.
By the end of their final confessions, the departed
have parted with their burdens of secrets.
In death much more than in life,
there is honesty.
Still, I take comfort in the lies of the living.
Have I found you upon a mistake?
A misgiven-prison- yet a gift just the same
Scars mend,however - my internal lack such privilege
My place will always be place, a moment's glance
I thought I'd lost that sweet smell, that Honeysuckle aroma-
of wanting
For I was revisited time and time again,
with the inhalation of burning leaves
Now is the time of mending
I look forward to getting drunk on the Rose Water-
Let my swirl in the emotions, that preface yearning
Starvation lead to my cirrhosis, my anorexic heart
which long awaited the nutrition that could only come from you
As you have breathed that sacred breath of life back into me,
one that I thought only a Cherub could behold
Did you hear the music? That symphony I wrote so long ago
it lured you to me
Brought you home, gave me place
expired no more
for now I live; letting go of yester-years.
In Hades, flows the chthonic Styx, a river
of woe and pain (a channel thoroughfare;
where Charon ferries the dead, who despair)
which unnerves our damned souls till we quiver.
The Styx! It's like cirrhosis which kills the liver,
metastasizing there; but does not care;
and tortures us beyond what we can bear!
Because we are thrice-damned, we now shiver
with the peals of the Stygian death-knell;
while Heaven appears like a hope long dead
(as if we’re ten-thousand feet deep in hell!),
here, where the redeemed dare not walk or tread,
we are but ghosts, like shades without a shell:
yet, hell can we brave; but, the Styx we dread.
A sip of whisky, a little nipsky-
for my liver this is risky!
Cirrhosis bound, by ultrasound,
but still I feel a little frisky
Does it matter, when to Death are shackled,
and we join earth's Kings and Queens?
Time, the force, we cannot battle-
I've seen it in my Dreams!
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