Destiny watched
safely trapped high
in coma’s vantage point
whilst Streetwise
continued to wash Gullible in heavy tears
stripping genuine from mordant
allowing dissemination to pile
in mounds open as deleterious
stagnant waste susceptible
to wounds of reaction
Time remained...
monitored through beeps…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The mystery of unconsciousness - especially that of intensive care. This one reminded me of last year's looking glass world of monitors and tubes and uncertainty. Love the way you have dealt with your Streetwise and Gullible. A powerful piece. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥