Being Ill

When tightness crawls up the nose,
Slime slips down the throat,
Limbs grow cold and mind is fuzzy…
Now’s the time to save those words,
Now’s not the time for mountain climbing,
Those distant cloudscapes are better saved,
For when red blood pumps adventures’ call
Now its time to crawl abed,
To huddle under warm blankets,
Hot water bottle for a stomach,
Ten thousand pillows for a neck,
Movies for eyes and music for ears,
A fantasy for life held in stasis,
And deep dark sleep,
Where the cave of healing brings relief
Till once again health’s bright morning
Creeps under eyelids
With new horizons for the soul,
But for now the King’s trumpets do not call…
Sleep on.

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(C) Copyright Mark B Williams 2014 Registered & Protected
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