all the world through a misty glass,
never realising time's pass,
perspective is the difference between first and last.
sometimes strong, sometimes weak,
sanity for me they seek,
if they would listen, i would tell them that what they seek,
is at the end of horror, the end of the shriek.
as the world twists on its axis,
inside myself i am in stasis,
at my body they talk and probe, try to assess,
wondering why my recovery is under arrest,
all they know is that of a chair, i am one leg less.
With amusement i watch my eyes stare,
the doctors say 'she hides', but the cannot say where,
i am not in that bizzaar shell, i would never stay there,
falling, flying, unicorns reading on chairs,
the cruelties of life i am spared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem