Fibromyalgia Poem by Ronnie Rayner Larter

Dry rust has tarnished the pins
now ridged like iron clad limbs,
hinges are squeaking in the neck,
ankles are refusing to move
at my request,
oh, yakety yak, my poor back,
I need to rest.

Sleep, oh, sleep,
take me to the land of dreams
where I can escape the pain
raging though my soul;
fatigue and weakness,
oh, the bleakness
of life takes its toll.

Thinking power
in the tower
has slowed down;
furrows and frowns
between the eyes
are ever deeper; don't cry,
be a reaper, of good cheer
until the gloom has gone,
press on I say, press on.

May 2023