ME I: The cavern
My body is aware,
Full of sensations I cannot bear.
Stolen are words, Language is null, From the outside there is no one, Understanding is gone.
Protest is futile, They cannot see Past the wholeness of my being, To the broken me.
Synapses firing, Inside my brain, Voices are burning, Lights do the same.
In the darkness there is shelter, A refuge of peace, From the bombardment of the outside, But inside there’s no relief. The sun burn in my brain, The crawling shocks of pain, The people who blame, The system is insane.
I’m broken, I’m broken, On the inside, But on the outside All they see Is a despondent soul, Inwardly writhing in agony.
The protesters still march, While I sleep in my bed, Some campaign for the truth, The rest say it’s all in my head.
Well the only thing I can say, Is perspective has given this game away, I have seen reality, From politics to pure empathy, I will carry on my torch In hopes of a better day.
Makes me think that ...
For some ME means Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. This is poem one in a series of four.
It could be you. Join our team of readers.
More people are writing and thinking about work-based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to email@example.com.
Send a poem you've written or one you like and we'll share it with other WorkInWords readers