Critical Condition Poem by Nick Patrick

Critical Condition

Rating: 5.0


Where is the nerve that meets muscle with bone?
The mind has divorced body and the soul is alone
Cascading through the night, an ocean of wonder
The being has been reduced by unforgiving thunder
Which claps with liberal hands on the face of longevity
Slicing through layers of skin showing no signs of brevity
A pitiful voice limps through, but inhabits no enclave
The poor nerve lays unsuspended, why is it so brave?
When no absolutes are measured, only patterns of gray
And any signs of integrity are met with moral decay
So as the body staggers along the streets of disparity
The singular mind awaits for that moment of clarity

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