Pain & pressure in my head
intense, almost unbearable
gives warning soon I might be dead...
(A condition quite past care-able.)
A ticking time bomb in my brain,
arterial walls weak & tearable,
may soon explode - a burst balloon
bringing quick death with little pain.
I'd rather not survive a trauma like this,
for I detest the thought of rehab;
& frankly I'd rather find my bliss
on th'other side of life, where soon
enough I'll be. There, I'll confab
with experts who'll show me reasons
for my ills & rapid death.
I know that I shan't care at all:
I'll be forever shut of changing seasons:
no more Summer, Winter, Spring or Fall,
I'll have left them all long past;
along with an existence that was over far too fast.
(Copyright 12/2/2005)
Hugh, a very emotive and moving piece. In the wake of that it's always difficult to be objective. Some of the word play was almost amusing, notwithstanding the subject matter. I thought the last verse was a beaut! The first two lines convey it all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is a certain dark humour to this Hugh. It starts out almost like one of those teenage angst pieces, its almost as if you were having a sly dig. Of course I could be wrong about your intent. And that, I think, is a good sign: to allow the reader to impose their own will on the piece.