My Crohnstipated Life

© Andy Carrington, 2009.

http://www.andycarrington.co.uk/

Crohnies

There is a rare poem in each of us buried

somewhere within our wounded hearts;

And for those that have no known cause or cure,

here be an open, organic form to detail with our every word.

Call it faith,

or a credo of personal truths;

I am not interested in writing sonnets

when moments we each have cried,

in fear, to the stale scent

of our covering blankets.

We suffer, And we’re expected to fail,

Yet as individuals we still manage

to keep fighting on, And this, surely, must be considered an art:

The first discipline in conquering the simple, mundane

tasks that have become our daily challenge.

Yes, we are artists, Never considered

to be “normal”,

Not when we have caressed the palms of spirits

within the depths of our dreams.

We meet daily with our fears and never take

for granted our imagination;

We are strong,

Looking through an ecru window

to the outside world,

away from the doctors who take away

our morphine, and those awful nurses

who force us to eat.

We believe,

That one day we will taste the outside air,

free from pain and the need for meds

… in health, deserving better.