on 7/18/01 8:00 PM, Printmaker at [log in to unmask] wrote:
> Aftermath
>
> I curse the pain which drives me to my bed,
> my body prone, limp limbs that are not tired,
> lost time's frustration ever in my head,
> once limitless, my patience now expired.
> Recluse, herein entombed where I abide,
> confined to where I do not wish to be,
> no sign reveals the damaged nerves inside,
> the ceiling's white is all that I can see.
> The pain continues whether day or night,
> no matter how I move or writhe in fear,
> pill popping dulls and blurs my sight,
> mind numbed, hands shake, feet tremble out of gear.
> Drunk driver heed this, were you not blind,
> I'd not be here to slowly lose my mind.
>
> J Severn 2001
>
> The trick is to identify which sonnet I appropriated?
I'll go out on a limb (pardon me!) and say #27:
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;
But then begins a journey in my head,
To work my mind, when body's work's expired:
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous and her old face new.
Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee and for myself no quiet find.
Yours is like a photographic negative, isn't it, Josephine? With the
reversals of black and white, blindness and sight, abiding recluse and
zealous pilgrim?
Well done!
andice
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