Egg-shell brittle… My bones ache,

My marshmallow brain blown out.

Intelligent thought an Ancient lore.

Active locomotion, a residual tale.


And yet,

And yet, I still expect

to be returned to normality,

to return to full mobility.

To run again and bend,

to be able to play and think…

Oh to think!

Clear and crystal thought…

Un-muddied  by drugs,

unclouded by pain.


Futile expectation,

I know.

I  know.

copyright Dale Beck 2018

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